Harry Dresden at Hogwarts
by gomenasai-for-everything
Summary: Harry Dresden is asked to work at Hogwarts, and John Marcone, forever an obsessive stalker, follows him. Upon arrival, however, he's turned into an eighteen year old who lacks John's signature iron control, and really, really wants to get into Harry's pants.
1. Chapter 1

Beyond bills, a few thank you notes, and more letters with people calling me insane than I'd like to admit, I don't get much mail, and I've never gotten anything by way of owl, because Hell's Bells, I live in Chicago. An owl flying around with letters is kind of weird. But one morning, I opened my door, and found a barn owl sitting there impatiently, letter tied around its leg. Mister hissed at it, but it just stared back, completely unimpressed. I had a sudden spark of admiration for the animal, because Mister was quite obviously large enough to hold it down with one paw and cut it up with the other. Still, I wasn't exactly sure why the bird was sitting outside my door, and staring up at me like I was the stupidest meatbag to ever smear my idiocy over the face of the earth.

"Uh. Hey there, owl. Is there, um, something I can do for you? Oh, Stars, I'm talking to an owl, aren't I?" The look on its face told me that yes, yes I was talking to an owl, and even it thought that was kind of dumb. It lifted the foot where the letter was tied and waved it a little, and I guessed it really was for me. Whatever, if anyone in Chicago would get sent letters by way of owl, it would be me. Of course it would be me. I sighed, and reached out to the bird, half-expecting it to snap at me, but it sat docilely as I plucked the letter off and tore open the wax seal. The letter slid out and unfolded on its own, then started talking. Now, I'm a wizard and all that, but that's some theatrical magic right there.

"Dear Mr. Dresden," came an old, weathered voice, like the Merlin's in that the accent was high British, but different in that it was kind, with a touch of a laugh underneath, "We have heard many tales of your magical prowess, and would be honored if you became a teacher at our school of magic, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have long lacked a proficient teacher in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and you, as a very well-known combat mage, would be perfect for this position, if you desired it. The pay would be quite tolerable for you as well, I'm sure, and room and board, as well as transport to the school, will be provided if you accept this position. Please reply if you would like more information, and I shall make it a point to come for a visit, and I'm certain we can come to an agreement." The letter faded away, left a blank paper, and yeah, that was theatrical magic. Pretty simple, but effective for entrancing and amazing. It was the sort of stuff I'd pull in a stage show, if ever I attempted one. Which I won't. Much as it may seem otherwise, I don't exactly like being in the center of attention. It doesn't usually work out too well for me. But anyway, I was confused. I'd heard about Hogwarts, a lot, knew that it was a Council-approved school for young practitioners that couldn't get, or weren't quite strong enough to get, a Master. What I didn't get was why they wanted me for a teacher, when I knew the school was in Britain, and that the Council would definitely not want their ticking time bomb teaching the young practitioners. I was curious, though, so I went over to my desk and managed to find a pen that wasn't broken or dried out. I scribbled out a request for information, refolded the letter, and gave it back to the owl. It squawked and flew off. Yeah, okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done, and yeah, it was probably a trap, but I still needed to take care of it. And if it was a serious offer... well, I'd cross that bridge when I got to it.

Barely a day after the owl had flown off, I heard another knock on my door, and opened it up. On the other side, a tall, hunched man stood, a long, flowing beard the focal point of his face. His eyes were blue, and glinted playfully, brightly, in the early sun. He smiled at me, and I returned it.

"Uh, hey there. You the guy that was talking about the job?" He nodded.

"I am, Mr. Dresden. My name is Albus Dumbledore. It's good to meet you," he said, in the same voice I'd heard through the letter.

"Huh. I was sort of expecting some kind of monster, actually. I've seen your picture on a few books my master had me read, and there's no veil on you, so... Stars and Stones, this is an actual job offer, isn't it?" Dumbledore laughed, and nodded.

"Indeed it is, Mr. Dresden. I'd legitimately like you to come teach at my school." I blinked a few times, and had to sit. I knew the pay would be amazing. I knew I'd enjoy getting to teach the next generation. I knew I couldn't leave Chicago. The bearded man smiled sadly, but the glint remained.

"I can see you don't want to leave this place, but I can promise you, the area will be protected in your absence."

"By the Council?" I hissed, and he shook his head.

"No. I have cut ties with the White Council, Mr. Dresden. Hogwarts is run and operated only by me, now. That is why I am now able to ask if you'd like the job, whereas before my request to hire you was denied. Now, Mr. Dresden, if you come to Hogwarts with me, I will personally cover the entire city in wards, and if there is any problem at all, you will of course be able to return." I shrugged, shifted in my seats. When I was younger, I'd dreamed of going to Hogwarts, known it had to be amazing from the way Ebenezer talked about it.

"Alright, yeah. When do you need me there?"

"Now, if at all possible." I nodded.

"Alright. I need to talk to my friends, though, tell them where I'll be, give them a way to contact me if anything happens, and have someone look after Mouse for me."

"You can bring both of your pets, Harry," he laughed, and I gave a shaky smile. I was going to Hogwarts. I was going to be a teacher. Hell's Bells, but it was strange and amazing and one of the best things that had ever happened to me. I stood, and the old wizard and I climbed into my Beetle. It puttered along how it always did, and as we sat, I could feel the other man's power, strong, but pressed back, like a dammed lake. I stopped the car in front of Murphy's house, and knocked on her door. She came to it, obviously tired, dressed in sweats, lazy looking.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice sleep heavy. She must've had a hard day, yesterday.

"Hey, Murph," I whispered, and wondered how I could leave, how I'd said yes so easily. "Something happened," I began, "Something amazing. An opportunity came up, something I've always wanted, but I'll have to leave Chicago. I just... if you don't want me to go, I won't. If any of my friends, or Thomas, don't want me to go, I won't. It's... Hell's Bells, I got invited to teach at a big magic school." Her face went blank, but it seemed a little thinner, sort of pinched. I winced. "No, no, I'm sorry. Never mind, okay? I'm staying." She kicked me, hard in the knee, and I nearly buckled.

"You idiot," she mumbled, her pretty blue eyes sharp, cool. "You think I can't look after this city, without you? Fucking idiot. You never even think of doing anything for yourself, do you? You never even consider it. Take the goddamn job. This is my city too, you know I'll look after it for you, and it isn't like you'll be gone forever." I felt tears beading in my eyes, and I hugged her, hard. I felt some of her thin bones shifting, and I know she'd kill me if she ever even thought I was thinking something like that.

"Thank you," I said, "I'll come back as often as I can, and the headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore, said he'd ward Chicago up, and promised I could come back if ever anything got through them, and god, Murph, thank you so much for telling me I can go," I said, soft, babbling, and she slapped me.

"Idiot. We're friends, and I can tell this is something you want to do. You never do anything you want, for fear someone might get hurt, and you're stupid for it. You're a stubborn ass for it. Go, get out. Tell anyone else you haven't told."

"You're the first one I went to." She blinked.

"Why's that?" I gave a half smile and squeezed her shoulder a little.

"I thought you'd tell me to stay." She shoved me out of the threshold and slammed the door in my face. I laughed, shook my head, and walked back to my car, because that was Murphy, and I loved her for it. I ducked into my car, and drove to Michael's house, and it still looked like a picture from Better Homes and Gardens. Picket fence, green grass, all they needed was a dog. I knocked on the door, and Charity answered, a slight glare on her face. I grinned because it was familiar, and familiar means things are safe and comfortable and I probably won't die within the next half hour.

"Mr. Dresden," she said, not happy but polite all the same. I'd never been able to project that, you know? That particular brand of politeness that still managed to get across that you really don't like who you're talking to.

"Hey, Charity. Is Michael around? I need to tell him something."

"He's around if you're not planning on getting him nearly killed again." My smile remained.

"I don't think you're going to have to worry about that, anymore. I'm leaving town. Got a new job, you know?" She glared at me, and spun on her heel to get Michael. She's really graceful, when she isn't pregnant, strong and long and lean. Michael appeared in front of me, tall, broad, stalwart in his plaid worker's shirt and jeans like no one else could be.

"What's this Charity said about you leaving town?" he asked, voice a low baritone, soothing. He'd calmed me down with that voice more times than I'd like to admit, and I felt another ache in my heart, another pang that said I shouldn't go, but it was a good opportunity, for me. It would be a dream, and if I didn't like it, I could leave. I could come home whenever I wanted. I'd keep my apartment.

"I got a job offer, from a wizarding school. I want to take it, but I'll tell you the same thing I told Murphy: if you don't want me to go, I won't. I'll be able to come back, whenever anything happens to Chicago, and the headmaster of the school is going to personally ward Chicago up." Michael laughed, and it rumbled in his chest like an earthquake, then he hugged me hard.

"Go with God, Harry, and know that I will be there for you whenever you need me." My hands shook, a little, because Hell's Bells, my friends were amazing.

"Thank you, Michael. The school's in England, okay? It's called Hogwarts. I'll write you guys, yeah? Tell Murphy that for me, will you? She slammed the door in my face before I could." Michael nodded.

"Of course, Harry. Be safe." I nodded.

"Yeah, I will. And remember; get in touch with me if you need me." He nodded, and I, again, returned to the Blue Beetle with a smile on my face. Dumbledore's eyes were glinting like crazy, and I drove to the college campus to see Billy and the Werewolves. When I told them about what was going on, they didn't do much more than slap me on the back and mourn the loss of a member of their gaming club. I said we could play by writing, every now and then, and they settled and smiled and wished me luck, although Billy had a sort of pensive look on his face, like he was going to ask to come along, but Georgia kept a sharp eye on him constantly, and I was grateful to her for it as I left again, and drove to Thomas' apartment.

I had to cock my hip and pout to get into the building, but I was pretty much used to it, at this point. Toe-Moss was lucky I loved him, I thought, as I knocked on his door. He answered it, his hair disheveled and his chest bare. He smiled and invited me inside, but I shook my head.

"I'm not staying long. I can't. I got a letter a few days ago, with a job offer that I'd really like to take. It's not in Chicago, though, and right now, I'm planning on going. Today, actually. I've gone around to everyone and asked if me leaving is alright. You're the last one, and I'll tell you the same thing: if you don't want me to take the job, I won't. I'll stay right here." His eyes went a little blank.

"How far is it? Could I drive there, for visits?" He was a lot quieter than usual, and I took back any request I may've ever made for him to be quiet. I didn't like him quiet.

"I don't think so. It's a teaching job, in England. The headmaster is warding Chicago, and if anything nasty gets through, I'll be back. I'll also be returning on holidays, birthdays, and maybe some weekends, if I can swing it. The pay's good, and I can send money back to you. I'm keeping my apartment, too."

"I just found you," he mumbled, "But you want this. You never want anything. I can't tell you to stay." I looked away from him, because his eyes were hurting me. It was times like this that I liked having the Soul Gaze as an excuse for being unable to look people in the face.

"I'm sorry. Thomas, please, if you don't want me to go, tell me so. You're one of the most important people in my life. I love you." His hand shot out, and clenched over my shoulder, and he was crying.

"You're leaving. You're going to go, and that's final. Don't you even dare thinking of staying on my account, or I'll kill you." He laughed, suddenly. "Empty Night, Harry, I love you too. Go. But if I don't get a letter at least every week, or a phone call, or something, you're dead." I laughed, too, and hugged him once, quickly, because damn it, we were men. Before I left, though, I did manage to whisper a thanks in his ear, and he smiled as I walked back to the car. As I started the vehicle, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Are you done, then?"

"Yeah," I said, "That's everyone. All my friends. I don't have many, you know?" He smiled.

"Well, I believe you're forgetting one person, but you will not think of him. Come, come, let us go, yes? Back to your apartment. We'll take your fireplace to the school, and you can get started on lessons." I snickered.

"Fun," I said, and he laughed.

"Indeed, but necessary. You seem unsurprised by travelling through fireplaces." I shrugged.

"I've never done it, but I know mine is connected to some kind of network. My Warden did it himself, in case he ever wanted to do a surprise search of my house." Dumbledore sighed.

"And thus is the reason why I cut ties with the Council. They are a foolish bunch, you understand, always judging, but magic does not thrive on judgment, or cruelty. It is life, yes?" I grinned, nodded, and pulled into my parking place, staring on confusedly as the man marched into my apartment. I heard the trapdoor to my lab opening, and ran in behind him, my face twisted into a grimace, but by the time I got inside, the whole lab was emptied, packed up into a few miniaturized boxes. Theatrical fucking magic.

"Hell's Bells, I could've packed that stuff up myself, you know," I mumbled at him, and he laughed.

"It would've taken too long. You enjoy doing such things the muggle way, do you not?"

"Muggle?" I'd never heard the term before.

"I believe you call them 'vanilla'. It means one who cannot do magic." I nodded, left the basement, went into my bedroom, and tossed some clothes into a ragged suitcase I'd bought secondhand. Dumbledore allowed it with a tiny, half-annoyed smile, and then walked over to the fireplace. I followed him, and lit the blaze, before he tossed some sort of dust into it that made it glow green, then shoved me through, Mouse and Mister just behind me. I had the vague thought that maybe my new boss was sort of an asshole.

* * *

I tumbled out of another hearth that could've been next door or a million miles away, onto a hard stone floor, and felt bruises I'd received from a really pissed off troll with a toothache that had been healing throb and pound with renewed vigor. Candles floated everywhere, dancing in the dim light of false stars over my head, and five long tables filled the room, one of them turned another way, and I assumed it was for teachers. A bunch of people in robes sat at that table, and I scrambled to my feet as Dumbledore slid gracefully from the hearth behind me. Yeah, he was definitely an ass.

An older woman, tall and thin, dressed in black robes with a stereotypical hat on her head, laughed quietly, while a man with long black hair and a stern face with a sharply hooked nose sneered. I glared at him.

"This is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" he asked; voice a low, slow drone. I crossed my arms.

"Harry Dresden, the only Wizard in the phonebook, at your service." The sneer melted, a little, and was replaced with a sort-of smile.

"A Wizard that attempts to make muggles believe in magic is a strange breed. You are a half-blood, are you not?" I snickered.

"I like vanilla mortals, that's what my friends are, and it's not like none of them believe in magic. Stars and Stones, my friend Murphy's a lieutenant in the police force, and she hires me as a supernatural consultant, sometimes. If they see magic, right in front of them, before the media or anyone else has a chance to twist it around into something mundane, they believe it. And I've got no idea what the hell a half-blood is, so you're going to have to clarify, buddy." I could hear silverware falling from hands, shocked gasps giving way to hidden laughter, and wondered how I'd already become the butt of a joke. A gigantic man, taller than me and impossibly broad, a thick beard covering most of his face, smacked the dark haired man on the back.

"Yer first buddy, Severus," he laughed out, and the stern-looking man was forced forward against the table. He cleared his throat, straightened the robe he was in in sharp, jerky movements, and I decided I was going to devote as much time as was conceivably possible to finding the man's buttons and pushing them as often as possible. He could be like my new Marcone!

"Yes, well. A half-blood is one who is born of one magical and one non-magical parent." I nodded.

"Yup, that's me, then. My dad was kind of magic, though. He was a stage magician, taught me a bunch of tricks, before he died." Dumbledore clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Have you yet eaten, Harry?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"Not today, no. I was about to call some of my friends, see if they'd help me buy a pizza or something when you stopped by," I said, and Dumbledore laughed. At a snap of his fingers, an extra place was set at the end of the table, by Severus, and I took it gratefully, immediately beginning to shovel the food into my face. It wasn't the greatest meal I've ever partaken in, but it was a big damn step up from the cheap delivery pizza I'd been geared up for. Dumbledore slid around and took a place at the center of the table in a bright golden throne, then spoke to me again.

"Well, Harry, I suppose I should introduce you to everyone, yes? The woman at my right is Minerva McGonagall, and the other woman at hers is Pomona Sprout. Beside her is Filius Flitwick, and by him is Rubeus Hagrid, and, of course, Severus Snape. At my other side, there is Poppy Pomfrey, Argus Filch, Sybill Trelawney, and Rolanda Hooch. Everyone, as he's already stated, this is Harry Dresden, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He is a very well-known combat mage in America, and is often called the 'ticking time bomb' of the White Council." The big man, Hagrid's, eyes closed off a little.

"'E's from the Council, is 'e?" I grinned, and knew I had food caught in my teeth.

"Yeah, but don't worry, they don't like me much. Try to behead me every other week, you know? Real downer." The room went up in nervous laughter, but Snape stared over at me for a second, one brow quirked up high. I continued eating, and everyone else finished up shortly after I cleared a plate. Everyone stood, but Dumbledore called for me and Snape to stay.

"Severus, would you mind escorting Harry to his rooms? They are in the dungeons, near yours, I believe, as that was the only free area I was able to find that didn't have a ghost occupying it. And besides, I believe you'll rather like some of his potions ingredients." Snape nodded once, stiffly, and took my arm in a bruising grip as he swept off down the hallway. I stumbled along after him, long limbs deciding they felt like being gangly and awkward that day.

"Stones, man, you can slow down a little, right? I know I need to get lesson plans or whatever done, but I've got a while, don't I?" He paused, there in the hallway, and his eyebrow went up again, the sneer played at his lips again.

"The new term begins tomorrow, Mr. Dresden." He made my name sound more like a curse than anyone had ever managed, and a speck of respect for him twitched in my chest.

"Well, hell. I guess Bob can help me get them done," I mumbled, half to myself, but unlike most people, he didn't respond anyway, and just started dragging me along again.

As we walked, I began to realize that the school was a lot bigger than I'd once thought, with hallways that appeared to lead nowhere until they got you somewhere and stairways that moved and paintings that spoke and tapestries that told stories. I wondered what I would've thought, had I gone as a child, wondered if I would've been able to wonder at it all like I couldn't now, because I knew how it worked and knew I could do it all myself, given time, knew it wasn't nearly as impossible as it seemed. I was led down a really long flight of spiraling stairs that grew dimmer and dimmer, narrower and narrower, then through a heavy set of wooden double doors, down a long hallway, and finally through a smaller, lighter door and into a plush room done in a nice shade of green. The boxes with my lab stuff, more numerous than I'd thought, were back to their normal size, and my single pathetic suitcase was placed on the soft looking bed. Snape seemed a little disgusted by it, but I just grinned, and started digging through the boxes, attempting to find Bob. I found him placed carefully at the top of the third box, plucked him out, and sat him on the desk that was pushed against one of the walls. I, thinking that Snape had just left upon dropping me off, spoke to him.

"Hey, Bob. Time to get up, yeah? I got myself into a little bit of shit." The skull yawned, and orange lights brightened its eye sockets.

"Morning, Boss. I gotta ask, though, when are you not in shit?"

"To be honest? Never. But this is pretty easy, I swear! I got a job at Hogwarts, and I gotta get some lesson plans written up. You worked for a teacher here before, right? Help me out." I heard footsteps behind me, and a long, pale hand reached over my head and plucked the skull up.

"What is this?" he asked, voice low, and Bob squawked indignantly.

"Hey! I'm not a toy you can just toss around, tall, dark, and batty," he yelled, and the eyebrow, quickly growing famous to me, went up again. I wondered if he had any other expressions.

"That's my assistant, Bob. He's a Spirit of Air and Intellect, lives in that skull. He remembers things for me." The skull snickered, lights dancing in the eye sockets.

"I told you before, man. Assistants get paid."

"I bought you novels last week."

"I read them already."

"I bought at least five!" The lights flickered around to stare at me.

"I live in your basement, Harry. I stay down there unless I'm needed. I have a lot of free time, since you never let me out anymore." I sighed.

"Bob, you're one of my best friends, and I love you and all that, but I don't want to hear more about mass orgies on college campuses." Snape stared.

"So it is an enchanted skull?" he questioned. I laughed.

"No, it's a real live human skull, but the Spirit was bound to it as a punishment, a long time ago. My Master used to own it, but I got it when he… died." Snape hummed.

"And it remembers things for you?" I nodded.

"Yeah, like potion formulas, or how to perform certain rituals, methods of meditation, stuff like that. Well, actually he remembers everything he's ever encountered, but still. I don't always need all of it, but it's good to know a lot of knowledge is there whenever I need it."

"Interesting. Skull, what is the formula for Polyjuice potion?"

"My name's Bob, batty. And there are two ways to make it. The classic way, which is probably how you do it, but it's needlessly complicated. I still know it though, just in case," he began, then rattled off an insanely long formula with countless ingredients I'd heard of only in passing or not at all, with chopping and dicing and stipulations for times when the ingredients could be gathered. "But you can make the same damn thing with a base of water, the favorite drink of the person you're attempting to turn into, for taste, their favorite song, bottled, for sound, their picture, for sight, a piece of their hair, for touch, their perfume, cologne, deodorant, or anything like that for smell, a blank piece of paper for mind, and something personal for you for spirit." Snape blinked.

"Very intriguing. Mr. Dresden, if you allow me a bit of time with this skull, to research a few things, I shall assist you with your first lesson plans." I shrugged.

"As long as I can be in the room, I've got no problem with it. A lot of people are after Bob, for some of the information he has, and I just met you, so I can't really trust you yet. You're probably a perfectly nice guy and all that, but still. He's been stolen before."

"I assure you, I do not wish to steal your skull, but if it will bring you peace, the research I wish to do is in no way private. Now, go fetch a paper, and something to write with, if you wish for me to assist you." I nodded, and slid open one of the desk's drawers, thankful to find a thick pile of blank paper, a quill, and ink. Damn, but it had been a long time since I'd used a quill. I wondered if I could still even manage it, and Bob snickered at me as he was placed back on the table.

"Well, obviously you don't need me, then. I'm going back to sleep." I nodded.

"If you want to, Bob, but since you haven't been here in a while, I thought you might want to explore. You can leave your skull for the night, as long as you don't do anything you know I wouldn't like." The eyelights brightened exponentially, then filtered from the skull, formed into a formless, orange-yellow cloud, then drifted out of the room. I opened the ink well, dipped the quill, and scrawled out the words 'lesson plans' on the top of a page. Snape started talking about what each grade level needed to learn, and I scribbled out some basic plans for the first week or so, deciding I could flesh them out more as I went along. As the time neared midnight, he stood with a flourish of his robes.

"Well, I believe that will be sufficient for now. You will be expected to keep up with them on your own, beyond this point, but if you have questions about the curriculum, you may ask me, or any of the other employees you met this evening. Your first class will be a group of first years, at eight thirty in the morning. It will consist of Gryffindors and Slytherins, so you may have trouble with fighting. Threaten to dock points, and they'll be silenced quickly enough, however. Or you can just mention a detention with me," he said, and that tiny smile curled his lip again. I gave him my best lopsided smile, and trust me, it's pretty lopsided.

"Aw, come on, you're not so bad. And you like my fancy little lab assistant. Which reminds me, you're a potions teacher, aren't you? Think I can keep my stuff with yours?" He nodded.

"I am, and I suppose you may. It's all in these boxes, is it not? I will take it to my storage area, and set up a place for it all. I assume you have nothing in them that needs to be kept here?"

"Well, there's probably some romance novels Bob will want to keep. Can I go through and pull them out really quick?" He nodded, and I dug around through the boxes, pulled them out, and watched him grow more and more amused as the covers grew more and more sordid. I hated Bob sometimes. "He's a pervert, okay? He's fascinated with human mating. He's almost as bad as the Dewdrops," I mumbled, and the dark haired man nodded.

"Of course, of course. Is that all of them?" I nodded.

"Yeah. The other books in there are all potion related. You can look through the notebooks, if you want. I scribbled a few ideas out. They're probably no good, but hey, who knows? Maybe you'll see something useful in one of them." He nodded, and pulled a long, dark wand with a ridiculously detailed handle from his robe, shrunk the boxes with a flick of his wrist and a mumbled spell, then lifted them easily.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Dresden." He left before I could reply, and I flopped into bed without even bothering to change clothes. Mouse and Mister wandered in and climbed into bed with me seconds before I dropped off into sleep. That's the first night they've done that that I didn't get crowded into the floor.

* * *

Marcone's POV

It was about six o'clock, when I got the damned phone call, the one that told me that Harry Dresden was gone, that he'd left his house with an elderly gentleman in robes, come back, and then disappeared. His house, my guy said, was now uninhabited. He also said that all of Harry's clothing was gone, and that the room beneath his apartment was empty, though furniture remained in place, and his icebox was still full of coke and beer and frozen food just inside its expiration date. I was worried, despite being pained to admit it, and Hendricks could obviously tell it. He kept glancing at me, from his corner of the office, pausing in his typing for a few seconds every fifteen or so minutes. After an hour of this, he actually spoke up.

"Boss… you wanna go ask his friends? If he left willingly, he would've told them where he was going." My fingers clawed a little at my keyboard, and after a few seconds, I nodded.

"Yes. If he was taken by something, he must be retrieved. He is invaluable to Chicago's safety." The smirk that danced over Hendricks' features told me he was quite certain that my reasons were more personal, but he didn't mention it, and we walked out together, then climbed into one of my vehicles.

I didn't even bother to drive to the policewoman's home, or his ex-roommate's, instead going directly to Michael Carpenter's home. He answered the door at my third knock, his face as perfectly serene as it always was.

"Mr. Marcone," he said, nodding at me with some modicum of respect, but leaning heavily against his door frame to make it clear I wouldn't be invited inside.

"Mr. Carpenter. I have received word that Mr. Dresden has vacated his apartment, and wish to know if this was a willing removal." The man smiled, a little, and it was amazingly gentle, for someone of his size, especially since I knew he had the ability to intimidate, unlike Harry himself, who never used his height as an asset.

"Word has travelled quickly, then. He came by here about three hours ago, and told me goodbye. He has been offered a job, somewhere else, and after receiving approval from me, and his other friends, I suppose he left. He has, however, promised to return whenever anything is amiss, and his new employer will be warding the city, so you do not have to worry over Chicago's safely." I nodded, but my heart twitched, a little. I found I didn't care for the city's safety, really, found myself just missing the man himself.

Harry Dresden was like the personification of my city, wild and strong and passionate and beautiful. Chicago wouldn't be Chicago without him around, without his voice, his taunting. He was a magnet for trouble, but this place had been a hell of a lot duller without him in it. He was a ray of sunshine, a splash of excitement, in an otherwise repetitive, dreary world.

"And this new job? Do you know where it is located?" He nodded.

"I do. It is a teaching position in a high-class magic school in England, called Hogwarts. Is there any reason you wish to know that?"

"Curiosity," I began with ease. "There is still a chance that this job offer was a trap, a trick to remove him from the relative safety he's created in this city." Michael shook his head.

"I do not worry over such a thing. Harry is an intelligent man. If it was a trap, he would have known, and would not have gone. Is that all, Mr. Marcone? My family and I were preparing to have dinner, you understand." I nodded.

"Of course. I apologize for keeping you. Have a good evening, Mr. Carpenter." He gave me another smile, and shut the door. I went back to my car and climbed in.

"He okay?" Hendricks asked.

"It's likely he is, but I'd prefer to be sure. Call Gard for me, would you? Ask her to arrange transport for me to a magical school called Hogwarts, in England." He seemed a bit confused, but he made the call just the same, and Gard arranged for me to fly to London the next morning, and then ride a train down to the school. That evening, I cleared up a few pressing affairs, got a decent night's rest, and then drove to O'Hare and boarded my plane before the sun had even fully risen. I arrived in London at about seven in the morning, and Gard then directed me to a secret train for the magical denizens of London that brought me to the school.

It was a huge structure, hulking on a cliffside, made of stone. Low, rolling hills served as the school's backdrop, along with a lovely lake and an ancient looking willow that Gard kept me far away from. I knocked on the castle's door with a heavy, iron knocker, and was greeted at the door by a hunched man with too long, stringy hair and an angry looking cat in his arms.

"State yer business," he snarled at me, his accent thick and heavy.

"Good morning. I am here to see one of your teachers."

"That new one, I bet. The Council rat, the one old Dumbledore swears up and down ain't really involved with 'em. Even got the old dungeon bat Snape eating out of his hand. But not me, and not Mrs. Norris either. If that damned monster of his hurts her, I'll kill him myself," he grunted, not really speaking to me. Harry Dresden, making friends wherever he goes.

"Yes, well, I believe my employee mentioned that I was coming, when she arranged my transport here. The teacher's name is Harry Dresden, by the way," The man nodded.

"Yes, I thought so. Come on, then, he's teaching his first class right now. I'll take ya down to his room, to wait for him." I made a sound of agreement, and he led me through winding corridors and down flights of stairs, until we reached an area that appeared to be a sort of dungeon. As we began the trek down the dark hallway, we were confronted by a man that had Harry's pitch dark hair and Harry's thin face, but where Harry's was impish and teasing, his was sharp and perhaps a bit cruel. His voice was a harsh, rumbling thing to match.

"Mr. Filch. Who is that?" He pointed at me as though I were some disgusting thing not fit to step on, and I felt an immediate dislike for him build in me.

"Visitor fer the new teacher. I was taking him to his rooms, to wait for him to finish teaching, Professor Snape." The man nodded once, stiff.

"I will escort him the rest of the way, then, so that you may return to your duties." The man, Filch, nodded, and walked off. The cruel looking man, Snape, then twisted gracefully and walked in the other direction, led me to a wooden door. As soon as he opened it, Harry's mountain of a dog came over and licked my hand. I scratched it lightly behind the ears, and it seemed to grin up at me. "Professor Dresden will return here in about an hour or two. Please do not leave this room, Mr…"

"Marcone," I said. "And you are?"

"You may call me Professor Snape. Might I ask your business here, Mr. Marcone?"

"To make sure he's alright. He can't be trusted to take care of himself, you understand, and his friends have allowed him to go traipsing off with far fewer questions than should have been asked." His icy black eyes glinted.

"Then you are not his friend?" I shook my head.

"No, but not his enemy either. We're sometimes allies, I suppose." Snape hummed from somewhere deep in his throat, and crossed his arms.

"Yet you come to check up on him? I assure you, he is in safe hands here." He shifted his stance a bit, and I saw the corner of a red notebook poking from the sleeve of his billowing black robe. I recognized the handwriting on it, and my eyes went suddenly narrow.

"I would like to see him now, if you wouldn't mind." He sneered at me, harshly.

"You have already been informed that he is teaching a group of first years, at the moment, and said group is from two rival houses. If he were to leave the room, there would be chaos, if there isn't already."

"You have his notebook." He raised an eyebrow, and plucked the small red spiral notebook from his sleeve.

"Yes, I do. He informed me that I could read them last night, in exchange for my assistance with his lesson plans, and for allowing him to keep his potions ingredients in my storage closet. They're rather good, actually. There are some ideas in them I've been planning to try myself, as well as some I've not considered. The doodles and stains are a bit distracting, though." I stared at him smoothly, and heard a crash in the hallway, then some curses that only one man I knew used.

"Stars, Hell's fucking Bells, Stones, where is it? That little prick," I heard Harry mumble, and soft laughter behind that, though I knew that no one else was out there. All I'd seen out there, actually, had been paintings. Snape sighed, and slid from the room as Harry came into view, looking a little frazzled, though he didn't seem to notice me.

"Professor Dresden?" Snape asked, and Harry sighed.

"Some kid took my coat then ran out of the classroom. I left a Gryffindor girl in charge, and said if anything happened while I was gone, I'd call you. They all went dead quiet. I don't know where the damned kid went, but if he messes with some of the stuff in that coat, it'll blow up in his face." Snape rolled his eyes.

"Do you know this student's name?"

"Yeah. Billius Rey, a Slytherin. Or he was wearing green, at least. Green is Slytherin, right?" Snape nodded.

"Yes. I know the boy's family, and him as well. He is not the brightest child in this school, by any means. It is likely that he went to the common room. Please, return to your class, and I will look for him. I will put your coat in your room, if I find it." He nodded back, and still didn't notice me in his room.

"Thanks, Sevy," he said, a sharp grin curling his lips, then whipped around and walked off. I saw his too-large button down fluttering on his form as he walked back. I smirked at Snape, a little, to hide that I was perhaps a bit upset.

"Sevy?" I questioned, and he released an almost sub-audible snarl.

"He is taking extreme liberties with my name," he hissed, and I laughed.

"It's a habit of his. He calls me John, and then proceeds to yell if I call him Harry." He hummed disinterestedly, and then prepared to leave, probably to go fetch Harry's duster.

"I'll likely break him of it soon enough, or he'll stop on his own, upon forming friendships with the other teachers. As I stated earlier, remain here, and Professor Dresden will return within the hour. However, I must ask that if he does not wish to speak with you, you leave." I waved a hand, perhaps dismissive, and he gave me a sharp look as he left, his eyes growing even colder.

I heard a crash from somewhere down the hallway about half an hour later, yells, and then a set of stumbling steps, not at all in pace with another, smooth set. The door opened, and Snape stood before me again, one hand clenched in the robe of a short, heavy set boy with a too long coat on, one I knew was Harry's. He also had Harry's blasting rod clenched tight in one hand, and was babbling to Snape noisily.

"I thought it had to be charmed, to make him taller or something, and I thought it'd be funny, you know? It was just a joke, but Professor Snape, please look at this! It's not a wand, even though it looks like one! There's no core in it, and the wood's weird, look! Something's off about him!" Snape swatted his head.

"He was born in America, foolish boy. I would assume the wandmakers there follow a different process than Olivander," he hissed, and I shifted on Harry's bed, crossed my legs. I smiled.

"While I don't exactly wish to say this, the boy is right. That isn't a wand. Harry calls it his blasting rod, and he carved it himself."

"But he uses it for casting, correct?"

"Fire magic, at the least. I believe he uses his staff for other spells."

"Then there is nothing strange about it. It serves the same purpose as a wand, though limited it may be." The boy squirmed in Snape's grip, and the man himself jerked the coat from his shoulders and plucked the blasting rod from his fingers. "Now, Mr. Rey, you will return to Professor Dresden's classroom and apologize to him for disrupting class. If you do not do so, he will inform me, and you will have detention with me for two weeks, rather than the one you currently have. I am also deducting twenty points from Slytherin." The boy squawked and squirmed.

"But you're the head of Slytherin! Why would you deduct points? I mean… that guy would probably be a Hufflepuff or something anyway, wouldn't he? Please, Professor Snape! My father will kill me, if he hears!"

"Professor Dresden is my colleague and your teacher, so you will treat him as such. I care little for your father's reaction, by the way, and I believe you should have thought of it before you stole your teacher's coat. You had no idea what he might have had in this, and yet you looked through it anyway. You could have injured yourself, stupid boy." The boy looked away.

"Sorry, Professor Snape."

"I am not the one I asked you to apologize to. Go, his class is nearly over, and you've likely missed something valuable." He moved his weight from foot to foot.

"I'll… I'll ask him if he'll do a review with me, after I apologize. Can I… can I serve my detention that way?"

"If he agrees, you may serve one of them in that manner. Now go."

"Yeah, okay. Thank you, Professor Snape." The man nodded, dropped the student's robe, and gave him a harsh shove towards the stairs. The boy ran quickly up them, and Snape swept into the room with me.

"Foolish child," he mumbled, "He did not even question you, a muggle, for being here." I don't know why, but being called a muggle offended me, despite the fact that I didn't know what it meant. I suppose I just don't like being called things I don't understand, as those terms generally seemed to turn out to be insults. I believe even Harry had attempted to call me something in mangled Latin before, but the most I got out of that was that he was quite certain I spent my time kidnapping rabbits from young monkeys.

"And might I ask what a muggle is?"

"One who cannot use magic."

"I believe Harry says vanilla. You may want to pick that habit up. It sounds far less offensive, you understand." He sneered.

"I care little for what offends you." I stood up, and might have pushed my chest out a bit. Hendricks has informed me on numerous occasions that I have an alpha male complex. Harry, being well known for having horrible timing, chose that moment to march in. He blinked, then heaved a heavy sigh. His face was thin, as it always was, and shadows I'd come to expect, if not like, lingered beneath his dark, soulful eyes. He looked a bit awkward, in his ill-fitting clothing, with pants that showed the slightest sliver of his pale ankles and a shirt I was certain would fit me properly.

"Of course. Marcone, how in all the seven hells did you already find out I left town? Stalker," he sing-songed, long frame leaning against the door, his arms crossed.

"There are many grandmothers and aunts in your neighborhood, Harry, and they generally find it prudent to tell their grandsons and nephews that that nice young man they always follow around left his home with an older gentleman, came back, and then fell off the face of the earth."

"Don't call me Harry, John," he said, almost on reflex. "Look, I'm fine, yeah? I assume you talked to Michael, since he's the only one I can think of that I told about this that would tell you anything. Hell's Bells, I don't need a mobster to look after me. I can do that perfectly well by myself." I looked over and saw Snape standing in the corner, his arms crossed.

"Really now? That's why I've pulled you out of a river, twice. I'm certain it's also why I've found you in an alley, bleeding out and about to be killed. Besides, it isn't as though I want you here anyway." Harry heaved another heavy sigh.

"Stars and Stones, what are you even saying? I've thanked you for helping me out those times, more than once, and I've offered you favors. You didn't want them, so I think our debt is squared off. I don't need protection, and even if I did, I don't want yours. I hate what you do and what you stand for. You know that. And I would think you'd be happy to have me out of Chicago." I laughed, and stalked over to him, being as purposefully threatening, intimidating, as I could manage without being thrown from the school.

"Why would I want Chicago's heart gone?" I whispered, hardly loud enough for myself to hear, and certainly too quiet for Snape to listen in. Harry snarled at me, all teeth, but not frightening as I assumed he wished it to be.

"You'd kill me in a minute, if you thought you had to. I'm a liability, and I know it. I'm not stupid, John. I'm a threat, to you, to the city. If I'm not around, a lot less is going to go down, supernatural-wise. Hell, the Reds will all but vanish; my various enemies will no longer care, so on and so forth. Much as I don't want to admit it, Chicago will probably be safer without me. I'm a time bomb anyway, remember?" The self-deprecating half-grin on his face was disgusting, and I growled.

"Chicago is not my city without you in it. You're one of mine, whether you'll admit it to me or yourself or not." I shoved him, a little, into the wall, and he grunted. And then proceeded to lift one foot and sweep my legs out from under me, which worked surprisingly well, as I wasn't expecting it from him. Even he looked shocked when I went down, but I pulled myself back up quickly, before he even managed to move two steps from the wall, and pressed him back against it again.

"Marcone, let me go. I'm not yours, and I never will be, okay? I just got rid of the rumors that I was in your pocket. I don't want them to start up again, especially when I'm not in town to stop them." He looked tired. I found I didn't care.

"Then come back, Harry. This place isn't your home." He sighed out a quiet laugh.

"You think I don't know that? But it's going to become home, or like home, at least. I've dreamed of a job like this for a long time, Johnny. Helping these kids, teaching them, telling them what magic really is, keeping them from doing wrong with it… it's what I've always wanted. I asked everyone before I left, and they gave me their blessing. I'm staying here, Marcone." I wanted to hit him, suddenly, grab his hair and drag him outside, to my plane, force him home, but I knew I couldn't do it anyway. He'd burn me, shove me back with that force spell of his, do whatever he could to stop me, and he'd be able to. I knew I'd never be able to force him to do anything, not unless he was weakened. I could ask Gard, though. I could have her come in and take him, but the school was crawling with wizards and witches, I knew, and strong as Gard was, she'd still be unable to stand against all of them.

"Like hell," I still hissed, and my fingers clenched in his shirt without me really wanting them to. "You're coming back. You didn't ask me." His long fingers disentangled mine from his shirt, and he managed to duck out of my grip.

"Hell's Bells, Marcone, you're not acting like yourself," he said, and the tinges of worry in his voice nearly made me shake, though I was able to hold myself still. He shifted around me, careful to keep a few feet away, like I'd grab him again and run if I was given half a chance (which may have been a good assumption on his part), and sat on the bed, elbows propped on his knees and hands holding his face. "Has something already happened?" I stepped forward stiffly, and straightened my slightly rumpled suit.

"No. But when it does, I would prefer you be there. I still do not even understand why your apparent friends have allowed this foolishness." He laughed a little, but it was that fake laugh he used when he wasn't sure what to say, the one that came out when he was nervous.

"John, I'm not as necessary as you seem to think this morning. You've got Gard, yeah? And my Guard is there. And Billy and the other Werewolves. And Michael. And Molly. And Thomas. And Hendricks. And Murphy. And you yourself, really. Chicago isn't a place many warlocks would want to go flexing their muscles, not anymore." I slid around to sit beside him on the bed.

"You can be rather stupid at times, can't you? Why don't we discuss this later?" I asked him, and he blinked.

"Yeah. Okay, Marcone. And I'm not stupid, dick. Severus, can he stay here, at least until tonight or so?" I saw Snape's fingers jerk, a little, but he nodded once, the tendons in his neck so completely taut I wondered how he managed to move at all.

"I suppose so, but I fear he must share my room, as mine is the only one with an extra bed for him." Harry nodded.

"Fine with me, but Marcone's the one you should be asking. By the way, have you seen a little black notebook lying around anywhere? I know it isn't the one you took, but I had someone put some data in there for me, a few weeks before I left, and figured I may as well check it out now, since I'm waiting for that Billius kid to come in here so I can go over the shit he didn't hear with him." Snape shrugged smoothly, fluidly.

"I'm afraid I've not seen it. There was no black notebook in the box with the others. By the way, if you are too forgiving with the students, they will continue to disrespect you. You should not have given him a remediation session. If he fails your first test, he will not disrupt your class again." Harry snickered, a little, and flopped backwards on the bed. The loose fabric of his shirt fluttered around him.

"Hey, I wasn't the best-behaved kid either, when I was in school. I'd have been screwed, if I hadn't had a few teachers willing to help me out and put up with me. He deserves a chance to make it up to me. If he fucks up again, he can deal with learning the material he missed whilst fucking up himself." Snape gave a tight half-smile.

"You went to a wizarding school as well? Which one?" Harry blinked.

"Huh? Oh, no. I went to plain old vanilla mortal schools, periodically. When my dad could afford it, or when any of my foster parents bothered to send me. I eventually got my GED, though. I learned magic through two apprenticeships, not through any formal schooling." Snape nodded, and I saw him lean comfortably into the dresser.

"Apprenticeships are rare, in this day and age, yet you managed to have two? You do not appear to be that old." Harry looked suddenly uncomfortable, and turned his gaze away from Snape.

"My first Master, the guy who adopted me when I was ten, died, when I was sixteen. So I got a new one. I'm kind of a powerhouse, so it wasn't all that hard." Snape didn't appear convinced, and really, neither was I. It wasn't like Harry, to call himself a powerhouse, whether he was or wasn't. It also wasn't like him to speak so emotionlessly about someone's death, especially not someone who apparently took care of him, trained him. I thought I saw lights flicker in the eye sockets of the skull on the dresser for a second, but assumed it to be my imagination.

"Ah. Well, I will be on the lookout for your notebook, alright? Mr. Marcone, if you would come with me," Snape said, and swept out of the room before I could even stand. I had to work to keep up with him, and as I walked, I managed to get a call through to Gard and tell her I wouldn't be leaving until the next morning, maybe later. Through the static I managed to hear that I should call her whenever I was ready to leave, then cut the phone off. Harry had broken enough of them in the time we'd known each other that I had no desire to see what an entire castle full of magic could do to one. Snape stared at me.

"You realize that our students are taught to control their… issues with technology in their first day of charms, correct?" I shrugged.

"Harry hasn't been. He's broken more than one of my phones, along with multiple security cameras, two computers, and a car."

"Perhaps I'll teach him, then." I don't know why that statement pissed me off so damned much, but I could feel myself start itching to fight him. I was getting fidgety. I hadn't been fidgety in a long time. My fists were begging me to take a swing, and some baser, more primal part of my mind longed to feel the crunch of bone and the hot rush of blood on my knuckles. He'd bleed easy, that part of me whispered, just look at him. His bones would break like toothpicks. You could have him down before he pulled his wand. I crushed that needling voice, as he opened the door to his quarters and led me inside.

The area appeared to be similar to an apartment, with a small kitchen, a sitting area, a door that seemed to lead to a bathroom, another which led to a lavish looking bedroom, and one more that was closed, though I assumed it would lead to the spare bedroom he'd mentioned. I found myself thinking that I'd rather sit on the floor by Harry's bed, sleep where I could hear his breath. It was an odd thought, and I shoved it out of the way as I moved to sit on the couch in the living area. It was a bit too soft for my tastes, and my body sunk into it heavily. Snape stared at me blankly, then swept into the kitchen. The man's robes were far, far too billowy. Yes, that insult does sound rather weak to me as well.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Marcone?" he asked quietly, but it carried well.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice sticky with civility, and glanced around the room. I could see that Snape's back was turned to me, and he appeared to be searching for something, so I took the opportunity to glance around the area. There was little of interest, beyond a small black notebook placed on the mantle to a fireplace. I stood and plucked it up easily, then tucked it into my coat, by my gun. Gard had lined me with so many charms and wards that it'd take someone with considerable magical strength to put a scratch on me, but I still felt better having the weapon on me, in easy reach, in just the same way that I liked having my knives. The notebook felt a bit heavy, though, and I wished I could go ahead and look at it, but Snape whipped around and stalked back over to the sitting room, and sat down, a glass of some amber liquid held in his pale hand. His eyes flickered over to the mantle almost immediately, and he gave me a dark glare.

"Mr. Marcone, I am allowing you into my quarters. I believe you should appreciate that enough that my property remains my property. That notebook is not the one Professor Dresden mentioned, so please place it back where you found it." I removed the coat, jerked the book out of it, placed the jacket on the arm of the couch, angry though perhaps I didn't have the right to be, and flipped the book open. The handwriting wasn't Harry's, and the lack of stains told me that it had probably never been in his possession. I closed it, and put it back on the mantle. Snape continued to glare, even as he downed a gulp of the liquid in his hand. I shrugged, kept myself loose, ready to fight if I had to, but nonaggressive. It was a posture I'd perfected over the years, even when the younger part of myself that still inhabited a part of me begged me to punch and kick and claw and bite.

"I do not know you, Professor Snape, and so I don't trust you, or any relationship you may have with Harry." He smirked, but his eyes stayed narrow, stayed dark.

"I believe he'd prefer you to call him Mr. Dresden, Mr. Marcone." Kill him. It wouldn't be hard. Pull your gun now. One shot, through the center of his head, and he's dead. No death curse, too quick. Problem solved, easy as blinking. I could feel adrenaline pumping through me, making the blood bound in my ears, and it turned into a conscious effort to keep my breathing steady.

"I'll call him what I please. We've known each other for years, and have shared a Soul Gaze." He took another drink of the liquid, and I heard two people walking outside. We went silent, as their voices, feminine, carried inside.

"But he's so cute! I mean, did you see him after Billius snatched that ridiculous coat and ran off? He looked so pathetic, it was adorable!" A sigh.

"He's our teacher, Lucille. And such a Huff…"her voice trailed off as they moved away from the door. As those words sunk in, we were both silent. I, however, stood after a few moments and marched from the room, back down the hallway towards Harry's. I knew that the girl's words weren't his fault, rationally, but still the thought that filled my mind was that Harry was being seductive again, flirting in that way he did when he didn't realize he was flirting, and I was pissed off. I had no right to be, but I was, and I slammed the door open.

It was already too late when I realized that my charms and wards were in my jacket, too late when I saw a wand pointed at me with a trigger-happy young man on the other side.

"Mladý," he cried, the word stumbling, unfamiliar on his lips, and a flash of violet light struck me. I fell backwards, an aching pain filling me up for a second. I fell unconscious to the sound of Harry yelling.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's POV

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," I chanted, my eyes wide, as a bright violet light surrounds Marcone and starts doing… something. "Billius, Christ, what the hell was that?"

"He scared me," the boy whined pathetically, his hands shaking, the light that covered Marcone still lingering on the end of his wand.

"I just taught you shielding! Stars, what is that spell supposed to do? I need you to tell me, okay?" He looked unwilling to speak. "I need to know, kid. He might die," I said, and he shifted, shook his head.

"He won't. It… my dad taught me that spell. He said to use it whenever I was scared, that it'd make almost any enemy easier to beat. It's a de-aging spell. He'll… he'll turn into an eighteen year old, and forget everything that's happened to him or that he's learned since that age." I cursed. Some people, I could probably guess what would happen, if their age suddenly went down, but Marcone… that control he had, that perfect armor, I didn't know if all that would be there for him, at that age. I didn't know if he'd revert to what I knew were his basic instincts, the kill or be killed, fight or be beaten to a bloody pulp mentality. I also didn't know how well he'd react with my personality, and I didn't particularly want to feel just exactly how strong he was. I looked back at Marcone, and saw the violet light fading, saw that Marcone looked suddenly a lot different.

He was just as tall, almost as broad, but his face seemed a little sharper, a little hungry, and all but the barest traces of that boater's tan were gone. He hardly looked like himself without the fatherly lines in his face, without the traces of gray at his temples, without the small, polite smile I'd come to expect on him. He groaned, loud and deep, and opened his eyes. They were still green, but brighter, new money instead of old. He grabbed at his head and sat up.

"Holy shit," he mumbled, "Fuck, what'd I drink?" He finally seemed to notice Billius and me. "And where the fuck am I? Christ, did Nate buy me hookers again?" I stared. His voice was soaked in a heavy, sharp Chicago accent, deeply rooted, tied to every syllable, and the increase in cussing was a bit shocking. As was the fact that he thought Billius and I were hookers. I said the only thing I could think of.

"Hell's Bells, this is bad." Marcone smirked, and stood, his posture relaxed, but dangerous, like the tiger I'd always known he was. Apparently he just started hiding it better with age. He moved over to me, a sort of smirk on his face, a sharp flash of teeth, and his hand pressed into my chest.

"At least he got me one cute one this time. Must be a special day," he said, and then he kissed me. I spluttered, and attempted to shove him off, the knowledge that I could use magic not really registering, but he held me easily, his arm tight around me, pulling me hard into him, so I could feel the lines of his solid muscle and oh holy mother of god that right there was not muscle. He finally pulled his mouth from mine when he realized I wasn't responding, and I took the opportunity to yell. I like yelling. It makes me feel a lot better, when weird shit starts going down.

"Marcone, I am not a hooker, and neither is the boy beside me. I'm not even your friend! Stars and Stones, we're allies at the best of times." He stared at me, and laughed, wild and a little animalistic.

"I've never seen you before in my life, baby, and I'd think I'd remember someone like you. Especially if you always talk like that. I'd dream about a man like you every night, honey," he said, and grabbed his crotch for emphasis. I did not blush, by the way. I just got too hot, from being so close to the bastard. And my brain was overheating anyway, out of total shock, because apparently John fucking Marcone used to be a huge pervert. And someone used to buy him hookers, who, presumably, were usually not attractive. I was having about three simultaneous heart attacks, and maybe a stroke too. Of course I'd get a little warm.

"P-Professor Dresden?" Billius questioned quietly, and I was reminded suddenly of his presence.

"Billius, I want you to go get Professor Snape, okay? Tell him to come here, and you go to your room, or your next class, if it's time for that." Marcone grinned, his eyes flashing with teasing light I'd never before seen in them.

"You could've let him stay. I like it, when someone watches." Oh for fuck's sake. This was getting kind of ridiculous. Young Marcone was idiotically horny, if he was willing to sleep with me. Even I never got that pent up, and I wasn't nearly as handsome as Marcone was. I was certain he had no shortage of bed partners, especially when he was younger, like he was now.

"Marcone, stop it. We do know each other, okay? We have for years. You'd hate yourself, if you knew what you were saying to me, of all people." He sighed.

"I just said I'd fucking remember you if we'd ever met. And why the hell do you keep calling me Marcone, anyway? That ain't my name," he told me, sounding a little put out, but keeping his body uncomfortably close to mine. I tried to step back, but he just pressed in further, so I gave up.

"It is when we meet," I said, taking it in stride since I'd assumed John Marcone wasn't his real name anyway, "But that's not what's important right now. You're not going to believe me, but I'm a wizard, and so was that kid who just left. You barged in, and he got scared and cast a spell that turned you twenty again, and took your memory from after that age. The guy I sent him to get, Professor Snape, might be able to help," I said, and he nodded, surprisingly accepting.

"Yeah, alright. I can believe that, even if you think that makes me a goddamn idiot. Nate's never listened, but I've seen some shit, weird shit. Like, monsters, you know. Big ones, ones I couldn't make up. Scared the hell out of me. One nearly killed me, I think. Nate says I was hallucinating, but I don't use. Never have." And that explained a lot. I'd always wondered why he so readily believed in what I was when he'd heard about me, why he hadn't just dismissed me as a crazy weirdo who had ties to another crazy weirdo on the police force. It was nice to know it was because he had apparently seen things of the scary supernatural variety, and hadn't fooled himself into a rational explanation. He was braver than I gave him credit for sometimes, then. I smiled at him, because hell, he might not remember anyway, and I had no reason to be rude to him now when he wasn't much more than a child.

"So, if we know each other, we've fucked, right?" A really goddamn perverted child.

"No, we haven't. Hell's Bells, didn't I say we're hardly even allies? Stars, to be honest I'm pretty sure you only keep me alive because I helped you keep Chicago safe. I have a habit of pissing you off." He laughed.

"Damn, the older me is a motherfucking idiot. You're cute, you're a goddamn wizard, and you protect my city. You seem like a damn good catch, to me. Hell, if I turn into a fucking moron when I get older, you can keep me this way." Where the hell was Severus? He needed to get his ass in here right fucking now. He didn't oblige me, and the room remained empty save for me and Marcone.

"Marcone, you have a contingency plan in place for me, in case you decide I'd be less of a nuisance dead. Which won't be true, by the way. When I die, there's a decent chance I'm going to become a ghost. So you'll still have to put up with the apparition of me, even if it won't actually be me. That's kind of off topic though, I think. You need to go back to your proper age, and you need to do it soon. If Severus would get his ass in here, we could work on that, but apparently he's decided to take his own damn time," I babbled, and Marcone kissed me again. I did manage to shove him off this time, but he only laughed.

"I told you, my name ain't Marcone. Not yet, at least. Call me something I'll recognize, and hey, your name would be nice too, baby."

"I don't know what you'd recognize at your current age, and you can call me Dresden, like you're supposed to when you're all grown up."

"That's so impersonal, cutie. I want to call you by your first name. I know you're a teacher and all that, apparently, so it's probably weird for you, but it'd make me happy. I'll take you off my hit list, yeah? You can call me Mel, by the way." I snickered.

"Hey, the teacher thing is new for me, too. Just got the job today. That job is the whole reason you're here, actually. You got pissed about it, since I had to leave Chicago to take it. And fine, I guess. You're pretty much just a kid anyway. My name's Harry. But if you think this permission extends to you when you get older too, you're dead wrong." Another wild animal laugh, and he slapped my arm lightly, then pulled me down onto the bed. I landed on top of him in a heap, and he continued to laugh as I scrambled off.

"Nope, we haven't fucked. I really am disappointed in myself. Maybe my taste went down as I got older. So, Harry, you left Chicago for this place? Did you not like it there?" I shook my head.

"I love Chicago, but I wanted this job. I've always wanted to show kids the right way to use magic. Like I told you when you were older, though, I've made plans to come back whenever anything happens, and not as much will happen without me there."

"Thought you said you kept Chicago safe," he grinned.

"I try to, but I've got a lot of baddies after me. Like an entire Court of Vampires, one of the Walkers, the White Council, and a group of Fallen Angels. And that's the conservative estimate. There's probably a lot more I can't think of right of right now, or that haven't revealed themselves yet." He nodded as though he knew what or who those enemies were.

"Then it's not my taste that went down. I just turned into a fucking coward," he said, and with a wild stare he climbed on top of me, shoved his tongue down my throat. He pulled up for a quick burst of air. "But I'm not a coward now," he said, and then resumed the kiss. I had the idle thought that he was a really good kisser, better than even Susan had been, rough and controlling and no, no I was not enjoying this. I tried to punch him, but he grabbed my wrists and held them over my head. And then the door opened and he was jerked off of me by the scruff of his neck. He hissed and snarled, squirmed in the grip and clawed at the hand behind him, but it held like iron. My breath heavy, I sat up and grinned. My lips ached.

"Little late, huh Sevy?" He hummed, a tiny little smile forcing its way onto his lips.

"Perhaps. Might I ask why you had Mr. Marcone atop you?"

"He's a pervert? Hell, I don't know. His name is Mel right now, by the way, not Marcone." An actual laugh fell out of Severus' mouth. Marcone just snarled like a rabid dog.

"Bastard, asshole, prick, jackass, douchebag, son of a goddamned bitch," he hissed, over and over, coming out with a few creative curses I'd never heard before. I stared at him admiringly for a few seconds, then shook my head.

"Any idea what to do about this, Sev?" He shifted, attempting to keep Marcone in a tight grip despite his squirming.

"Do you recall the spell?"

"Mladý," I said with ease, and Snape heaved a deep sigh.

"A temporary spell, then, but not reversible. I'm afraid he'll have to remain this way for a week."

"Shit," I groaned. "You can let him go, by the way. Before he bites you or something." Snape dropped him, and he whipped around, body crouched into a fighting stance, muscles tight and ready to uncoil, propel him forward.

"I'll fucking kill you," he growled, lips lifted in a snarl, and god, I finally saw some of what he was trying to hide in that refrigerator soul of his, finally saw the demons he was controlling.

"Calm down, Mel. He's trying to help," I said, sitting up and crossing my arms. It felt weird without the familiar resistance of my duster.

"Fuck him," he hissed at me, then turned his attention back to Snape, "I don't know who the fuck you are, but don't goddamn touch him," he said, and his voice was going cold, like it did when he was Marcone the mafia don instead of Mel the punk kid. I stood up, and grabbed my staff from its place propped up against the wall, and mumbled a quiet, nonsense word Bob had taught me years before. It resulted in a pathetically weak binding wrapping around Marcone, one I knew wouldn't have held had he had even the slightest traces of magical talent. He glared at me, but I received no biting curses. "I can see why you piss me off, now," he said. "You're a fucking cock tease, and you don't use that damn magic for anything good. Tie that bastard up, huh? I didn't do shit," he said, and stones, it was weird to hear so much Chicago in him.

"That spell wouldn't hold him even if I wanted it to. I'm bad at binding. I can make fires, wind, and force. That's about it, honestly. I don't even know why they want me for this job. You need to calm down, Mel. Why are you trying to fight Severus anyway?" Snape stared at him and at me with that almost unnerving smirk-smile on his face. I felt like I was talking to a petulant teenager, and I pretty much was, honestly. One year did not an adult make. I wondered for a second why he'd called me a cock tease, and why I didn't mention it.

"Because he pulled me off. I want you," he said, eyes flashing bright, and he jerked his hips to draw attention to the fact that he was hard. I kept my eyes firmly on his face, carefully avoiding his eyes because even though we'd already shared a Soul Gaze, I wasn't sure if the spell would make him count as a different person. I didn't exactly want to look at the demons Marcone had hidden, didn't exactly want to see what he'd had tucked away in that one dark corner. "Hey, keep talking, Harry," he told me, a shark smile on his face, eyes wild and glittering, looking more like a caged beast than I was comfortable with. "We know each other, right? What do I do?" I quirked up an eyebrow as his money eyes slid closed for a few seconds, and Snape looked on, seeming far too amused.

"You rule Chicago," I said, because that was the best way to put it. "You took over from Vargassi. Brought some kind of order to the underground. In my life, you always seem to turn up as the lesser of multiple evils," I told him, and he gave me a breathy laugh.

"Really? You don't hate me, then, for what I do? You seem like the kind of guy that would hate the mob, on principle," he told me, eyes thin, curved crescents of green.

"Nah. I hate what you do, day to day. I hate the drugs, I hate the killing, but I don't hate you. Never have, if I'm downright honest about it. You've helped me, I've helped you. We've got a pretty okay relationship, I guess. I think I like you a lot more when you're not a horny teenager who wants to fuck anything breathing, though." His sigh was breathy, and his hips jerked in a stuttering sort of way, the way I'm sure mine did the first time I ever slept with anyone. Oh, hell. Was he getting off on me talking? I asked him as much, and he smiled a little.

"Damn. And here I was, thinking you wouldn't notice. You seem goddamned oblivious at the best of times. I'm not a horny teenager who wants to fuck anything breathing, by the way. I don't know why you're making me this way. I'm never this way. I've fucked, sure, but most people have by my age. I've just… it's never been like this. You and me, there had to have been something there, before this," he said, and there was a sudden, stark desperation on his face, one I'd never seen, not even when I'd met Amanda. Snape looked close to actual laughter, and from what I'd seen of him, I didn't think that was something easy to do. A squeak I don't particularly want to admit to wiggled its way out of my throat, and I wondered if it was possible to glare at a sound. I really wanted to.

"Hell's Bells, we met because you had Hendricks muscle me into a goddamn car, and then tricked me into a Soul Gaze. We're not exactly best fucking friends." I knew I sounded exasperated, but Marcone only grinned, his cat eyes shimmering.

"You sound good cussing. Makes you sound more human," he mumbled, and his hips were still jerking in erratic, twisting ways. I wished I could've produced a strong enough binding to stop that.

"Oh, Stars. Mel, you're twenty years old. You like fucking. I am pretty much the first person you saw when you entered that state, beyond Billius, and he's twelve. Calm down, I'll undo the binding, and you can go to the bathroom or something," I told him, and he continued to grin.

"You coming with me, dollface?" I rolled my eyes.

"Idiot." I undid the binding, and asked Snape to take him to the nearest bathroom, and he did so only after I agreed that I'd babysit him for the next week. I could hear his overdramatized groaning from my room, along with the fact that he said my name a lot more times than I was comfortable with. He stalked back into my room with a self-satisfied, cat-that-got-the-canary look on his face. I sighed at him. "You know Hendricks at this age, right?" He nodded, and slunk over to the bed, sat on it lazily, seemingly satiated, but I could see the lust continuing to dance openly in his eyes. It was really goddamn weird. "Get your phone out and call him, then. Tell him what's happened, and tell him I'm going to look after you." He nodded again.

"I don't like taking orders, you know, but I think I can manage it for you, sweetie." I glared.

"Just call Hendricks." He nodded, and did so. The phone call was short, to the point, and from what I could hear, Hendricks was surprisingly unsurprised. One thing he said, however, something he was actually trying to muffle, made me go wide eyed.

"Don't fuck him, Mel. It's bad for your business." And then the phone was hung up, and Marcone turned it off as he stared at it, and then proceeded to snicker about something or another I probably wouldn't understand and wouldn't want to.

"You in a relationship or something?" he asked me, eyebrow up and a tight smile on his face, one that was real but not quite actually happy. Both my eyebrows went up, since I'd never gotten the hang of just one.

"Huh? No, I'm not. The older you might think I am, though. I don't know, you've never mentioned it, and I've never cared enough to ask." He hummed, and leaned against me, put his head on my shoulder and sighed. It was uncomfortably intimate, but I allowed it since it was better than him trying to kiss me. God, young Marcone was too goddamn horny. I wondered if I'd been that bad, when I'd been young, but figured I wasn't. I'd only been in Chicago for two years, at that point, and had just stopped living at St. Mary of the Angels. I'd been getting my PI license, then, working for Ragged Angel and Nick, doing a few odd jobs here and there, like waiting tables or working a cash register. I'd been almost idiotically happy when I'd been able to put in the first month's rent at my apartment, even though Nick had laughed and called the place a shithole. That had also been when I'd found Mister, my very own personal hulking monster of a cat, and brought him home with me, even though he hissed and clawed at me whenever I touched him, or put anything on the ugly wounds that covered him. Nick had called me stupid for that, too. I missed Nick.

"Why would I think you were, if you weren't?" Marcone questioned.

"Because me and someone close to me played at it, a lot, for safety. We lived together for a while, and he's not an ugly guy, so the rumors just sort of started going around. We didn't discourage them, because it kept us a little safer, and hid what's really between us. I did end up getting a lot of sympathy, though, since he kept bringing women back to the apartment. I had more than a few people telling me I deserved better." I felt long fingers dance on my chest, walking up and down, twirl around in nonsense patterns. I think I felt him do a pentacle, once.

"You do. I'd treat you good, you know, like this or older. I'd treat you real fucking good, honey," he mumbled out, and there was that knife sharp smile again, the razor teeth that would've been more fit on a demon.

"I treat myself fine, I think. I've turned down your offers more than once, and they were a hell of a lot better than what you're offering me now." His fingers drummed on my sternum, and I could nearly hear the odd sound of flesh on bone.

"What have I offered?"

"Information, money, protection. Pretty much all my wildest dreams and more. I'm not too good at doing sensible things, though, so I turned you down. I think it pissed you off, for a while, but then you picked yourself up a Valkyrie and haven't bothered me about working for you since." He nodded.

"So I'm a coward, and I give up too damned easily. Apparently partly because of Nate. What the hell does 'bad for business' mean any motherfucking way?" I couldn't help but laugh at that, and I produced my own smile, but it was more crooked and ridiculous than sharp and tiger-like.

"Bad for business is like your catchphrase, Mel. Well, it's John's catchphrase, at least." He groaned.

"I call myself John? Christ. Marcone isn't too bad, but John? That's fucking stupid."

"No better than Harry, but hey, the rest of my names are better."

"You got aliases too?" he asked, looking genuinely curious and stopping the constant pitter patter of fingers on my chest.

"Nah, I'm forever and always Harry Dresden. I've just got two middle names too."

"Two?"

"Yeah. For safety. My mom suggested it, I think. The more names you have, the harder it is for anything to get all of them. I only know of two things with more than two parts of my name." He grunted in a way that suggested he wanted more information on that. "Names are dangerous. You can do a lot to someone, with their real, whole name. I don't even let friends give me their whole names, in case something tries to break into my head and hurt them."

"Yet you've allowed something to have more than necessary of yours?" He sounded like the him I knew, for a few seconds, but it drifted away quickly. "That's fucking moronic. You could get a goddamn award for that kind of stupid." I snickered.

"So I've been told. One of them is a demon I know, Chauncy, and I paid him with pieces of my name, since it's pretty much all I've got to bargain with when it comes to something that big. The other is my godmother, and I can't really stop her from having it. It's out of my hands, with her. Why are you worried about it, anyway? I'm pretty sure you haven't used your real name in a long time." He shrugged.

"Mel isn't my real name, either. It's a shortened version of my first name. Do you know how old I am? Like, how old I'm supposed to be?" I shook my head.

"I've never been able to tell. You aged well. You look perpetually forty, and I've known you at least seven years." He grinned.

"At least I stay hot, then," he bragged, and I rolled my eyes, doing my damndest to ignore how friendly this whole encounter was. I've never been that friendly with John goddamn Marcone in my whole life. I guessed maybe Mel was a little different, not quite the man I knew yet. I still couldn't say I exactly liked him, but just like I couldn't hate John, I couldn't hate the younger him. My door opened again. Snape appeared, looking a bit upset.

"Professor Dresden. Your next class is starting. I suppose you must take the muggle with you." I nodded.

"Thanks for telling me, Sev. And you can call me Harry, by the way. I make it a point to use the first names of my colleagues. Except for Murphy. But only because she'd kill me if I always called her Karrin." Snape nodded once, stiffly.

"Alright then. Harry," he said, and I gave him a grin. He wouldn't have made a good new Marcone, I thought. I sort of liked the guy. He was a little eccentric, yeah, seemed sort of antisocial, but probably no worse than me. I'd feel bad if I pissed him off more than I pissed off everyone I knew. Marcone's lip went up in a snarl, and I swatted him on the arm as we stood.

"Stop it," I told him, not noticing that I was doing that tsk-tsk motion at him until we got to the stairs and he was staring at me with equal parts amusement and annoyance. I stopped and grinned at him as we reached my classroom, and found it already full. These students were first years too, I was pretty sure; they wore yellow and blue instead of green and red. The other two houses, then. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, I thought. They stared at me as I walked in, and I couldn't exactly blame them. I'd grabbed my duster and put it back on before I left, and I was sure that I'd look a sight even without out it. Twelve year olds have the very rational habit of being a little intimidated by a guy that stands nearly seven feet tall in socks, and I was pretty sure said intimidation only increased when the whole 'magic' thing was thrown in. I was also nearly positive that Marcone's glaring wasn't helping much, so I sat him at what was supposed to be my desk and got to work. "Hey, everyone. My name's Harry, and you all can call me that or Professor Dresden, so long as you don't piss me off. This is another first year class, right?" I got nods. "Cool. Then the first thing I'm going to do is ask you all to tell me your names. I'm not going to remember all of them, but you guys should know each other's names, at least. Desk closest to me on the left side can start, and we'll go up and down rows from there."

The student I'd indicated stood up, dressed in bright bumblebee yellow and black, and gave a nervous sort of smile, scuffed her shiny black shoes on the cold floor, and spoke her name.

"Carol Wrigley," she said quietly, then plopped immediately back down. The next two or three students did much the same thing, but as they began to realize that I wasn't going to spontaneously transform into a face eating monster they started to seem a lot more like actual twelve year olds. The life they showed made me grin, and after the last child sat I popped my fingers and spoke again.

"Okay, kiddies, I want you guys to know that I'm always open to questions, yeah? I want you all to trust me, since we're going to be seeing a lot of each other for a while. So, before I start the first lesson, you guys can have ten minutes to ask me whatever, if you want it. If it's possible for me to answer honestly, I will." The kids stared at me for a few seconds, seeming confused, just like my first class had been. A student near the back whose name I was pretty sure had started with a 'G' raised his hand. "Just ask. Don't bother raising your hand, at least not until I'm actually teaching something." He put his hand down and spoke.

"Are you a pureblood?" he asked, shifting his blue and black tie a little, seeming nervous. Huh. That had been the first question the other class had asked too. I was pretty damn glad Snape had told me what I would be considered when I met him. I shook my head.

"Nope. I'm a half-blood." A bunch of students lit up with grins, including the one who'd asked, which was the opposite of what had happened in the other class.

"You're American, right? Where'd you learn magic?" questioned a Hufflepuff boy.

"I was an apprentice, so I didn't go to any magic school," I answered, and they all looked awed.

"Is it true you're with the White Council?" asked a girl, this one a Ravenclaw.

"Only sort of. I'm considered a member of the Council, but there's no love lost between me and them. I think your headmaster wanted to piss them off, so he hired me as a middle finger," I said, and bowed with a flourish. "Harry Dresden, Wizard of the White Council, professional ticking time bomb, at your service." I heard a few giggles, but as I unfolded myself, they stopped abruptly and I felt Marcone's gaze burrow into my spine. I sighed, and before I could reprimand him again, I heard another question.

"Who is that?"

"That would be Mel, a vanilla mortal who decided it'd be really fun to chase me to another country and get himself accidentally aged down at least twenty years and who needs to stop frightening twelve year olds because he has a thing about kids, and he'll be really upset at himself once he's back to normal." Marcone laughed.

"They're twelve year old wizards. I don't think me glaring is going to hurt them, babydoll." The kids blinked, and another spoke up.

"What sort of stuff have you fought, Professor Dresden?" There we go. Comfortable territory again. I'd yell and Marcone for the stupid names once class was over.

"Well, a lot of things, I think. Ghouls, zombies, a Fairy Queen, trolls, demons, goblins, vampires from every court, werewolves of every type, an outsider, and warlocks. I've never done battle with an actual dragon, though," I said cheerfully. The students stared at me with that sort of shocked awe only kids could produce.

"What kind of wand do you have?" a girl questioned excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat.

"I don't really use a wand," I said, then plucked out my blasting rod. "This is probably as close to a wand as I come, when I'm not using ritual magic. It's called a blasting rod, and it's got an affinity to fire magic. I carved it myself, out of silver lime," I said, and waved it a little. They stared.

"Show us how it works!" a few of them yelled, and I grinned, slid around to the closet where I'd found some dummies that I could use for displays during the first class. I pulled it out, positioned it as far from the students as I could while still allowing them to see.

"Fuego!" I yelled, and the runes and sigils of my blasting rod glowed red-orange for a second, then the flames lanced out and struck the dummy. It burned for a few seconds, and was then back to normal. Handy trick. I'd have to ask how it was done. The students clapped, and I grinned again. "Alright! Well, I think it's about time to get down to learning, huh? I want to start with shielding, okay? Can I get a volunteer to come up here?" A taller, thin Ravenclaw boy raised his hand immediately, and I called him up. "Throw a spell at me," I said, "The best you've got." He nodded, and pulled a thin wand from the sleeve of his robe, and pointed it at me. Marcone turned into a snarling mass, looked prepared to jump over my desk even though I'd told the kid to hit me with all he had. It was a little confusing, honestly. I knew he apparently wanted to fuck me, but that was just because I was the only one he'd seen close to his age, right? I was pretty sure I had a seventh year class coming in next, so I figured that whatever hormones ruled Marcone, they'd turn to the seventeen and eighteen year olds in that class.

"Blodau rhwymo," the boy called, and a flash of green streamed from the wand, flecked in placed with red and blue. Earth magic, then. If he could cast a spell with that, even as weak as that one was, at his age, he'd be a pretty formidable wizard, one day. I could've put an effort of will into my shield bracelet to block it, but it that wasn't how I wanted them to learn, at least not yet. Shield bracelets, or other charms similar to them, are faster, but in a sticky situation, it's a comfort to know how to do it without one. I mumbled something in the faux Latin Bob had taught me, and a half-dome of electric blue and white blocked the spell, sucked it in harmlessly. Marcone settled, at least a little. Or, didn't look like he might attempt to 'rescue' me at a moment's notice. After the kids let out their awe again (the boy had, before class, been showing off the spell, and a lot of students he'd been showing it off to enjoyed seeing it so effortlessly blocked), I went through how to do the spell. It took me at least twenty minutes to make it clear that how they moved their wands didn't matter, nor did the pronunciation of the words; so long as they believed it would work. It took even longer to get the fact that they could actually use whatever words they wanted in whatever language they wanted, that the faux Latin was just my personal preference. By the end of the class, however, all of them could at least produce passable shields in varying colors, and some of them had gotten proficient enough that they could experiment with the use of different colors, and found that, in the same way blue, a color I associated with defense, worked best for me, certain colors worked better for certain people. All the students seemed happy when the class ended, and that made me smile. It quickly faded, however, when I felt hands wrap quickly around my wrists, flip me around, and bend me over my desk. Stars and Hell's fucking Bells Stones.

"John, I'm pretty sure I've got another class coming in pretty soon. Get your ass off of me," I said, a little upset and not really noticing when I slipped up and called him by a name he didn't yet see as his.

"I'd rather get my dick into you," he said, and his hips jerked forward. That still wasn't muscle I felt, by the way. I managed to pull my wrist loose and elbow him in the stomach. He pulled off of me with a hiss just as the next class started to walk in. They were Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws again, and I wondered whether or not the school ever switched up which houses had classes with which. It had to be bad for the whole 'making friends' thing. I did the same spiel with them that I had with the other two groups, got all the names, even though they had that annoyed, holier-than-thou look most teenagers seemed to have patented throughout the entire thing. I did notice, however, that they were pretty eager to ask me questions too. I got that pureblood question first again, and wondered just how important parentage was in this place. Right when I was about to start teaching, though, I got the question that randomly made all hell break loose.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Professor Dresden?" Marcone jumped up over the desk, scattering papers everywhere, and he's got the front of the girl's robe tight in his hands quicker than I could really even see, and then his hand was up the robe's sleeve, and she's screaming about being touched, and me and all the other kids are just staring in shock as he jerks out the girl's wand and holds it threateningly, like he could do something with it. I broke out from my shock and stomped over.

"Mel! What the hell are you doing? Stars and Stones, let her go!" He looked over at me, gave me a grin.

"Will this thing work for me?" he asked, flicked it a little, "Fuego." Nothing happened, as I was expecting, and hoping. The wand remained dormant in his hand, and I stomped forward, exuding as much annoyance as was possible. Sulky wizard? Who, me? Never. I held my hand out, expecting him to put the wand in it. I was not expecting him to hold it between both hands, obviously ready to snap it. Oh, fuck. The girl's expression mirrored those words. "It won't, huh? Guess it won't work for you anymore either, then. Unless you want to apologize?" Her back straightened, her chest puffed out, her face went hard. Brave, then. Or stupid. But really, it's only stupid if you get killed, right?

"I didn't do anything, you muggle!" she yelled, and Marcone wiggles the wand again, twirling it between his fingers gracefully.

"Yeah, like you're any better right now, girlie. I've got your wand, remember? Can't do shit without that, can you? So how about you apologize for what you said," he told her, and I stepped forward and snatched the wand while he wasn't paying attention, and tucked it into one of the inner pockets of my duster. I wasn't, however, strong enough to pull him off of her, and the other students were still too shocked.

"I didn't say anything! Muggles really are stupid, aren't they? Get off of me, prick! I can do wandless magic, you know!" There was the predator's grin again, the one that sent a spark of worry through even my chest, because I was pretty damn sure there were more dead souls that had seen that grin on Marcone than living ones. He's a pretty scary guy, no matter his age, just different types of scary.

"Prove it." She blanked. She paled. She stilled her squirming. I think she might have made some sort of noise, too. Marcone laughed. "Knew it. I can smell a motherfucking bluff from a mile away." I growled at him.

"Mel, I'm going to ask you one more time to get off of her. If you don't listen, I'll make you." His grin turned a little gentler as he turned towards me, but his fist stayed tightly clenched in her robes.

"I'm doing this for you anyway, sweetheart. I don't think you have too much of a right to be yelling. Hey, what's this?" He picked up his foot and plucked a knife off of a tiny holster on his ankle. "Looks like old me is at least sensible enough to carry some goddamn knives, even if he ain't sensible to fuck with you, Harry honey." The girl's fear amplified, and John's grin turned even darker as he flipped the knife, end over end, easily in his hand. "Funny how it's the fucking, what's the word, muggle with the advantage, huh, girlie? Come on, I don't want to hurt that face of yours. You ain't a big prize or nothing, but you ain't ugly, either." I snarled, and grabbed my staff.

"Forzare," I said, holding it out, and funneled the smallest amount of force I could into it, aimed it at Marcone. He grunted when the invisible wall struck him, but he didn't go flying like someone normally would, if I hit them with that and was actually trying to hurt them instead of make a point, instead just dropping his grip on the girl and taking a tumble. I said the crappy binding spell again, and he glared at me as he squirmed around in it.

"Damn it! If you weren't so fucking… so fucking you I wouldn't deal with this shit! The more I'm with you, the more I see why I start to want to kill you!" I grinned.

"You're going to have to get in line, Mel, and sorry to say it's going to be a pretty long time before you get your pound of flesh. Actually, you're so far back there probably won't be a pound left, when you get to me." The students finally broke from their shock, and moved over to check on the girl.

"Alyssa! Are you okay?" one yelled, taking the girl's hands, and she smiled.

"I'm fine, Trissie. Professor Dresden, thank you," she said, and swept over to me, taking my hand. I blinked down at it.

"Uh. No problem. He's my responsibility anyway, at least until the week is over." And oh, I was just realizing what a long week it would be. Marcone laughed, but it wasn't a laugh of humor.

"How about you stop goddamn touching him, Alyssa? And you haven't fucking apologized for asking him that. He doesn't have a girlfriend, girlie, but he has me. I'm good enough." I pinched the bridge of my nose and gently slid my hand from the girl's, then bent down and hauled Marcone up to his feet, and helped him walk back over to my desk chair, where I sat him down. I kept him bound, though, and wondered if I'd have to keep him that way all week. I didn't really want to, because if I did, I had the sneaking suspicion that Gard would very nicely flay me in my sleep. Or, more likely, while I was awake. So I could feel it. Icky.

"Mel. Stars and fucking Stones. That's… I really don't know what to call that. I thought being in this classroom with people closer to your current age would fix your little hormone displacement thing, but apparently not. Look, I don't particularly want to keep you bound up for a week, for my own safety as well as yours, but I will if you don't settle down. I've never known you to act like this. I mean, your control is sort of legendary, honestly. I don't see how you managed to go from Mel the insane horny punk kid to John Marcone, ruler of Chicagoland." He grinned wickedly, his bright green eyes glinting with unrestrained amusement.

"It's not a hormone displacement thing, dollface. It's an I'm pretty fucking sure I'm in love with you when I get older and you're goddamn mine thing. I don't want other people thinking about you, and I'll do what I want to fucking stop it. Hear that, magic punks? I'll fucking take you all on! And Harry, you're gonna rule my city with me, huh? You're gonna be mine, and you ain't gonna fight me about it." I laughed, and decided the best policy would be to ignore him and go on with the lesson, which I did. I taught them about how to take on members of the Red Court, starting with folding sunshine, which they could all do despite the fact that I couldn't perform the act myself. Marcone actually managed to stay quiet through the rest of the class, which I was grateful for, and Snape dropped by to tell me it was time for lunch. Since he'd been good, or, in my thoughts, since I couldn't carry him all the way to the Great Hall, I released the binding, and we got to the Hall without incident.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the fact that the walk was without incident, the arrival wasn't so easy due to the fact that apparently Marcone was once totally insane, and had a habit of overreacting to things. The only thing that happened was that Hagrid put his arm over my shoulders in greeting, and Marcone decided that the best course of action in such a simple, day to day situation was to bite his arm. I don't think Hell's Bells is a strong enough term to get my emotion at that across. I think rarghlarafg is a little more accurate, though. When I noticed that he'd actually managed to draw blood, I amended it to rarghlarafghrkregh.

"Mel!" I was yelling his name way too often. Hagrid just laughed, low and rumbling, a laugh like tumbling boulders, and I wondered at his history for a second, because I'd never met anything totally human that could make that sound.

"Sorry there, mate!" he said, patting Marcone on his shoulder and eyeing the blood on his own arm, and the flecks of it around Marcone's mouth. "Didn't know 'e was yers. I'll keep my 'ands off 'im, a'right?" Mel grinned, and the red flecks were more prominent on his teeth. He licked them, and his lips, clean.

"Glad at least someone fucking gets it. Fucker over there don't," he grunted, jerking his thumb over to Snape, plopping down onto my chair, and pulling me onto his lap. In front of all the goddamn students. Goddamn him to hell. Now, because I've said that, and because the Big Guy has a grudge against me, he's going to heaven. He's probably going to become Raphael's personal foot soldier. And then take over. Fuck. Of course, he's the kind of guy that would probably attempt to bring order to Downbelow, like he had the underground of Chicago. What really pissed me off was that he could probably do it. And then I'd be out of a really big part of my job. And then I'd hear him laughing. Because Marcone would want to cause me headaches even from beyond the grave. And now he was massaging my hips, and he was hard again. Christ, how much stamina could he possibly have? I squirmed, despite the fact that my ID was telling me that that would really only make this idiotic situation worse. Marcone groaned, and started mouthing the back of my neck.

"Can someone get him another chair?" I asked, and yes, my voice was perfectly level. It was not cracking like I was going through puberty again. Dumbledore was the one who spoke, mirth glinting in his blue eyes.

"No others are free, I'm afraid, except with the students, and after what occurred in your last class, I don't feel that him sitting with them would be a particularly good idea. You'll have to remain there, I'm afraid. I'll have him a chair of his own by dinner, don't worry." I was worrying. I was worrying a lot, and my new boss is a huge dick. Marcone started bouncing me a little in his lap, rubbing himself against my ass. He stretched his neck up to whisper in my ear, his breath hot, heavy.

"You wanna get under the table for me, baby?" I elbowed him in the stomach, but he didn't really react beyond releasing a heavy puff of air. He laughed a little. "Alright, alright. Maybe later, yeah? When everyone's gone. I don't think you're as into exhibitionism as much as I am, but there's ways I can get my kicks without you being too uncomfortable. Like this." And then he picked me up as much as he dared, slammed me back down onto his lap, and jerked up to meet me halfway. I could feel him, a little, pressing into me through my duster and my jeans, but not much. He seemed to enjoy it, though, from the way his face was a little flushed when I caught a glance at him behind me, from the way his fingers tightened around my hips. There was no way in hell that there was a single person at the teacher's table who didn't know what he was doing, and I wondered how long it would be before I got fired. I voted I'd get a pretty pink slip after the meal.

"Mel, stop it. Now. I'm trying to eat, and you need to too. Besides, isn't this exactly what Hendricks told you not to do on the phone?" Marcone grinned, and nipped my ear, but blessedly stopped moving me around on his lap, instead sliding his plate around to where he could reach it.

"I never listen to Nate, just like he never listens to me. I tell him to start sporting some Kevlar; he says no one's going to go after him in his fucking school. He's gonna get shot one day, if he don't stop being a moron, thinking there ain't no one out there interested in him being dead. It ain't his fault, though, it's because he's with me, and the shit I'm planning. Or, the shit I planned, I guess. According to you it went through. And I guess Nate's okay, even if he didn't listen to me. But he's still fucking stupid, even if he is a hell of a lot smarter than me." I blinked. I'd never thought I'd hear Marcone, young or otherwise, admit to someone being smarter than him. Much less his hired muscle. But I guessed they could've easily been more, really, since it seemed they'd known each other longer than I'd guessed they had.

"Well, listen to him about this. You'll regret it, when you're back to normal. Actually… hey, Sevy," I began, and his eyes shone with cold fire. Okay, so apparently nicknames weren't appreciated in front of the other teachers. Too damn bad, Sevy. Deal with it. I like nicknames.

"Yes, Professor Dresden?" he hissed, teeth clenched, and I'd never actually seen anyone but him manage to get decipherable words across with clenched teeth. Maybe it was a magic trick.

"You think Hendricks could stay here for the week too? To help me keep him under control? I'd request Gard, but he doesn't know her yet, so I don't think she'd be as much help." Snape sighed.

"That is not my request to grant. I believe it is Professor Dumbledore you must ask, as he is the one in charge of the school." Oh, yeah. That's right. Huh. Dumbledore looked over at me with a sly half-grin.

"You may have any guests you wish, Harry, as long as you have somewhere for them to sleep." I nodded.

"Call Hendricks then, Mel, and get him here." Marcone actually pouted, and my brain was two tiny steps from exploding.

"Are you and Nate together or something? You seem to want him around real damn bad." His hips twitched a little, just to make sure I still knew his situation, apparently. I was fully aware of it.

"Damn it, no. I just want some help keeping you in line. Someone to watch you while I'm teaching, so you don't try to kill one of my students again." He laughed.

"I wouldn't have killed her. I was just trying to get a point across, sweetie. I haven't killed much, I don't really like it. It's too fucking messy." And that was the understatement of the year. Stones, but I was glad Marcone hadn't been born a wizard. God knows what he'd do with that kind of power. Take over the world, my ID supplied, and I, again, told it to shut its goddamn mouth. Mostly because it was probably right, but still. It didn't shut up, but that was nothing new, so I just ignored it.

"Just call him, Mel. He'll come running." Marcone sighed and actually did what I asked him to do, which was pretty surprising. Out of curiosity, I started Listening so I could better hear the conversation.

"Boss? What's up?" I heard Hendricks say, and Marcone snickered.

"You call me boss? Fuck. Anyway, I'm calling again because the sexy ass wizard you don't want me to fuck asked me to get you up here. Apparently I'm too much of a handful." I heard Hendricks sigh, and the censor between my brain and my mouth took a short vacation.

"It's not so much a situation of you being a handful as a situation in which I fear for my chastity," I grumbled, but as I soon discovered, it was loud enough that Hendricks picked it up. And probably so did the students directly in front of me and the teachers on my side of the table. Yup. I was getting fired. I was getting fired so hard I'd be unemployed for the rest of my life. And that's a really, really long time to live without money, and I don't think my friends will appreciate me sponging off of them, and I don't think I'll appreciate the inevitable housing of a cardboard box.

"Shit, Mel," I heard Hendricks mumble. "I said don't fuck him. Can't you listen to me just this one time? Christ, man. Gard and I are in a pub in some magic town or something, I didn't catch the name of it, but I think the fireplace is hooked to some kind of system. Gard, another one of your employees, has been telling me about it, so I'll use it to get to the school, alright? I'll be there almost as soon as I hang up."

"Yeah, yeah, Nate," Marcone said, a vaguely annoyed sort of happiness filling his voice as he hung the phone up. Not five minutes later, a hulking, red-headed mass tumbled through the fireplace in the great hall, and I had the irrational pleasure that I wasn't the only one that was completely graceless with the things. His eyes caught out position immediately, and he cursed. Thankfully, though, lunch was ending and the students, except for those that apparently had a free period next, started filing out. I looked mournfully down at my still mostly-full plate as it began to disappear. Hendricks stalked over to us, and plucked me off of Marcone with ease. I was unswervingly grateful for that, and felt an uncomfortable desire to hug him mercilessly. I settled for twisting my fingers together a little and watching the show.

"You fucking idiot," he sighed. "Is there somewhere we can go? By ourselves? I think I need to tell you a few things, Mel."

"My room," I said. "I'll take the two of you to my room. I've got three more classes today, before dinner, and two more after dinner, so I probably won't be back to my room for a while. That break I get after my first class is apparently my only one." Hendricks nodded.

"Yeah, alright Dresden. I'll deal with Mel for you." I grinned, lopsided as always, a little teasing.

"Sure thing. Come on, you two," I said, and led them back down into the dungeons. I tried to ignore the fact that Marcone grabbed my ass twice and my crotch once. I wasn't quite sure how he managed that one, but apparently his wrist has the capability of moving in very interesting ways. Like his tongue. I stomped on that thought until it crumbled to dust, let them into my room, closed the door behind them, and went to my classroom to wait for a new crop of students.

* * *

Marcone's POV

Nate's been my friend for years, but right then, I hated the asshole. Harry was mine, even if I didn't quite know why I wanted him, and Nate seemed like he wanted to keep me away from him. He was long and thin and cute in a scruffy sort of way, strong but not physically, scarred like me, maybe noble, the kind of man I could easily see as something like Chicago's heartbeat, pumping on alongside car alarms and sirens and city smoke and lights that shone brighter than stars. He was sarcastic and funny and I'd learned damned fast that he could piss me off like no one else, make me want to slap him just as much as he made me want to kiss him senseless. Senseless would be a good look for him.

"So, Nate, why are you so goddamned adamant that I shouldn't screw with Harry?" He sighed, and plopped down onto the bed. It seemed to release a puff of air as his weight hit it, but I was probably hearing things. I moved to sit beside him, and felt like I had the first time I'd been at his house, fourteen to his eight, my mom having forced me to come over for dinner with his parents, as my father had just run off someplace and she wanted some comfort that didn't come from me or the bottom of a bottle. We'd bonded over a shared love of books and card games, and he'd stuck with me even after he found out what kind of people I was getting to know, what kind of work I was starting to do. I trusted him more than really anyone, because of that, and shit, you can't buy that kind of loyalty. I was still goddamn pissed at him, though, but I had a right to be, because friends aren't friends unless they can be pissed with each other. He laughed, and rubbed his head, and he looked a lot older than I remembered, more like mob and less like the little red headed boy that had clung to my waist when he was scared of monsters in his closet. I think he might've even been taller than me. Shit.

"I miss hearing you talk like that, Mel. Hell, I miss calling you Mel. It's been a while." I snarled.

"I think I fucking hate whoever I turn into." He laughed again.

"You're a decent man. You always have been, and you always will be. But your job, when you grow up… it doesn't allow for the freedom of emotion you're showing now. It doesn't allow for being pissed off and beating the holy living shit out of what you're pissed at. I think you wish it does sometimes, especially where that damn wizard is concerned." I grinned.

"I like him." He smiled, but it was a little sad.

"I know. You do when you're older too, even if you don't admit it so… openly. It's bad for business, though, any relationship you could have with him. You'd lose a hell of a lot of respect, and a hell of a lot of sleep, keeping him safe. You already lose a lot, taking care of the hits people put out on him. Reading reports your guys send you on him. He's a weakness you don't need." I lifted my upper lip in something like a snarl, and laughed a laugh with more bite than usual, more bitterness. I could almost see how I was going to turn into that man I was quickly growing to despise, the man I'd one day see in the mirror. Fuck me sideways.

"I don't give a flying fuck about 'business'. I love him, don't I?" He smiled, halfway, but it faded fast.

"I think so, yeah. You've never said you do, but… the way you look at him… you don't look at other people like that. Right now, you don't care about your empire because it seems like something far away, like someone else's problem, but if you give into that desire now, you will regret it. It'll turn into a torture, for you, if you indulge in him now, because you won't be able to, once you're you again. You'll remember, and you'll tear yourself apart from the inside out with longing. I don't want to see you like that, Mel. You're my friend. My best friend, really." I felt my hands shaking a little, and didn't bother to do anything about it. Nate's eyes were trained on them, confusion evident. Apparently I never even revealed that much, in my old age.

"How do I deal with it?" He smiled.

"Stubbornness, I think. And enough grit and determination for ten men your size. The suspiciously Harry-like workers you've been using in your brothels might be helping too." I blinked, and laughed a little.

"Suspiciously Harry-like workers?" Nate returned the laugh.

"Yeah. It was kind of funny to watch to progression, actually. Before you met Harry, your favorite woman was a busty blonde, but that first night after you had me shove him into your car and you did that weird soul thing with him, you brought a woman with short, wavy dark hair with a relatively flat chest back. Then, after about a year or so of that, you actually had a talk with the woman that you leave in charge of the brothel you use and asked her to try and find men matching Harry's description. The really surprising part was that she actually found one. They could pass for twins, if the guy was a foot and a half taller." I squeezed the bridge of my nose, but I was grinning.

"Goddamn I'm a motherfucking idiot. Business isn't important enough that I should have to give up being happy, is it? I like being fucking happy." Hendricks smiled.

"Yeah? I like you being happy too. I really liked the days when I didn't have to hear you yelling Dresden's name. When you're fucking a goddamned woman." I broke into a spluttering laugh.

"A woman?"

"Yeah. That brunette you brought back? You screamed Dresden's name when you were with her, the first time. You pretty much refused to come out of your room the next day. That was the most emotion I'd seen you show in years. Still, I have to admit she was a true professional, and didn't ask questions. I did hear her offer to wear a strap on for you, though, the next time you brought her over."

"Hell," I said with a laugh, "Hell. You know this isn't going to get me off of him, right? I'm still going to go for him." He snickered.

"Figured as much. You're you, Mel. Screw it, go for him. We'll deal with the backlash when it hits us."

"Can't be any worse than what would happen if it got leaked that I was calling the women I sleep with Harry." He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he shut his mouth and shook his head.

"Fuck it. You're right." I grinned.

"Of course I am. That's why I'm the boss, Nate." He grinned.

"Guess you're right. Do what you want, Mel, at least for now. As long as you don't make me watch it." I snickered, and sprawled out on the bed. It smelled like Harry, smoky and backed with a cinnamon and brown sugar sweetness that made me remember pastries from an old bakery I'd lived near.

"But you know I'm into that, Nate. And a few other things." He sneered.

"I don't want to hear about your kinks, man. None of my business what you get up to in bed."

"Aw, come on, Nate. I was hoping you'd go pick me up a collar or something for the sexy wizard. He'd look good in it, don't you think?" Hendricks shook his head and covered his ears in a way he hadn't done since we'd met.

"Don't wanna hear it, don't wanna hear it, do not want to fucking hear it. I am not going to imagine Harry goddamned Dresden in a collar, not after the shit I've seen him roast." I allowed another boisterous laugh to break free from my throat, and slid off the bed, even though I caught my damn arm on the footboard. I held it to my chest, hissing, and dropped backwards onto the floor. I caught sight of something dark and shiny under the bed, during that, and plucked it out. It was a black notebook, and I gazed at it curiously, my head cocked. I thought maybe that it might've been a fucking diary, or something similar, that maybe my Harry kept something raunchy in it, and I flipped it open. A loose page that had been printed off of EBay fell out of it, and I picked it up. It appeared to be a screenshot of the final seconds of an auction for… oh, shit. One Harry Dresden, used. And… oh, holy hell, two hundred and fifty thousand was the highest bid. It had apparently been mine, because John Marcone was the name beside it. "Nate? Did I… try to buy Harry on EBay?" He suddenly busted out laughing.

"I'd kind of hoped you wouldn't find out about that one. You were actually blushing, when you initially made the bid. I think you told me some bullshit about not wanting his enemies to get a hold of him." I glared at him, feeling more ashamed of my future self than anything, because damn it all to hell, I turned into such a cowardly fucking idiot it made me sick.

"Shit. Any reason I didn't actually get him?"

"The auction got cancelled at the last second. I think Dresden got away from whoever was keeping him, but that's nothing new, with him." I nodded.

"You got any idea what I would've done to him, if I'd gotten him?" Hendricks shrugged.

"Not what you're going for right now, unless he wanted it too. You'd have just had him do some menial job for you then let him go, probably." Oh god fucking damn it.

"Holy hell. Just… fuck, don't tell me more about myself. I'm a motherfucking moron." Nate snickered, and for a while we just chatted about nothing in particular, about magic and Harry and the world around us and how Nate apparently had a crush of some kind on that Gard chick, and wow, we did still have the same taste in lovers, we were just currently into different genders. We talked and talked like we used to, like we apparently hadn't done in too motherfucking long, talked until we both fell asleep, me on the floor, him on Harry's bed. I had a fell into a dream, something I almost never did and remembered.

* * *

It started with me in a dark bar I wasn't technically allowed to be in, but I knew the guy who owned it. The dim light made the amber liquid in front of me glimmer, and the smoke that polluted the air smelled sweeter than I remembered, more like burning wood than cigarettes. There was a man beside me, too, long and slender with just the vaguest hints of stubble on his jaw and a neatly trimmed, small beard on his chin. He looked tired, and I recognized him as Harry, except for he wasn't quite Harry. He looked too cold, for that. He spared me a glance and downed something that looked like water, though I knew it wasn't from the almost clinically clean, burning stench it gave off.

"What are you drinking?" I asked him, even if I didn't really want to or know why.

"Rubbing alcohol and gasoline, if I had to hazard a guess," he said, a lethal sort of smirk on his face, and no, those eyes weren't the eyes of the Harry I knew.

"Beer might be better."

"Maybe I want to get shitfaced. Hard to do when you're a wizard, you know? I've tried. Beer won't do it, no matter how much I want to drink. If it isn't two hundred proof, and if I don't drink at least five or six glasses, I stay cold sober. It's hell, when I want to forget." I stared at him.

"Who are you?" He grinned.

"Harry Dresden. Nice to meet you, man."

"You're not him." He laughed raucously, and the other people in the seedy bar, the ones I hadn't really noticed, glanced over at us, before they turned back to their beer and their company or their loneliness.

"Yeah, I am. I'm his ID. I roam around in dreams sometimes, when I'm bored," he said, waving a hand, and the glass filled with the sharply scented liquid again. He downed it as quickly as the first, and licked his lips. I followed the motion with my eyes, because even if he wasn't Harry, he was still attractive.

"Yeah, right."

"It is right. He never talks to me, because I'm his baser self, the part that actually cares about seeing tomorrow's sunrise, the part that likes fucking and really wishes he'd do it a little more often. I'm also the part that thinks his morality is one of his worst goddamn traits. He'd be a lot easier to deal with, if he was a little more willing to stick a toe out into a moral gray area, stop defining the world with good and evil and black and white." I stared, and hell, this was weird.

"Really? So you're like an ass backwards conscience, then?" There was the tight smirk again, and with another wave of his hand the glass was full again. He just sipped it, this time, instead of downing it.

"Never heard it described quite like that, but I guess that's sort of right. You're John, right? John Marcone." I hated that fucking name.

"No. My name is Mel."

"No, it isn't. Not anymore, not really. Mel's a kid; you're not, not really. You're in the in-between, right now, the stretch of time between Mel and John. You've got a year, maybe two left of calling yourself by that name, before you're fully John. Hey, you wanna fuck me, don't you?" He snapped his fingers, and the bar, along with both of our drinks, faded away, and we were suddenly in a bedroom decorated in bloody reds and blacks, soft and opulent. There was gold glittering in a few places, necklaces and crowns and rings, like what I'd imagine in a castle.

"What the fuck is this?"

"What I want, but don't want to take. I know it would be easy, just an endless purse or two, a couple of tweaks to a few people's minds, and it'd all be mine. I could have this whole country, if I wanted it, maybe the world; if I took all the deals I was offered. I won't ever take them, or I guess I should say he, since you don't see us as the same, the same way he himself doesn't. I'd feel the same as him, though, if you want to try me," he said, and there was a certain laziness to him, suddenly, the kind of easy predator's grace I'd never imagine associating with Harry Dresden, clumsy, awkward as he was. The air was filled with the kind of cognitive dissonance I didn't even know existed, and it made me feel a little fucking dizzy, like I would faint. He sprawled out on the bed, legs spread, welcoming, waved a hand and his clothes were gone, just gone, not thrown across the room, and he was hard and oh I was too. He smirked at me, and I had the strange thought that he would make a better don that me, even though I had the job already, according to everyone I'd spoken to, even if it was hard for me to believe. He rolled his eyes, and then got up on his hands and knees in front of me.

He crawled forward, slowly, back arched enticingly, ass swaying, a sort of lust in his eyes that didn't quite fit. I thought I'd grown out of wet dreams years before, but something told me this wasn't quite a wet dream, at least not in the traditional sense, because the more I was with the man that looked like Harry but wasn't the more I believed his story. My blood was somewhere other than my head, though, so I couldn't really think of it more, not when he was being so sensual, and wasn't that a strange goddamned word to attach to Harry?

"I… shit, what the hell is this? Harry doesn't want me; not yet, at least. He's made that clear enough." The mirror image before me snickered, and reached out a hand to undo the button and zipper of my pants. When had he gotten that close? Hell. I was breathing deep, out of control, and it felt good, the wildness of it, after so many people had told me about how straight-laced I was going to become. I felt like I needed to prove to myself that I was still fucking me, not some kind of robot, prove that I could still feel, still feel intensely and let that feeling show.

"He does. He's always wanted you, physically. The emotions came in later. I don't like those, as much, I like the basics," he said, a hiss in his voice, and god, no; he wasn't Harry, not really, not all of him. "I like wanting you to fuck my mouth. I like wanting to feel you in me, hard, until I bleed. I like wanting you to use your knives on me, cut me up a little. I like wanting you to kill anyone that even looks at me, much less touches me. I can have that with you, can't I? Come on, you don't love him yet, do you? You can give me what I want. Get a little closer, Johnny; I want your dick in my mouth. I like giving oral," he said, and there was a glint of taunting in his voice. Not Harry, not Harry, not Harry.

"I do love him." I said, suddenly, meaning it even if I hadn't really known I meant it. I'd told him before, I knew, that I was damn sure I loved him when I was older, but I hadn't really registered that I did already. The other words his double had spoken suddenly registered, and I shuddered. "Is all that what the real Harry wants, inside?" I got a laugh for my troubles, hot breath puffed onto my dick, and I made a noise that was too fucking undignified to mention. Maybe that iron control I supposedly develop would be good for something.

"Yeah, deep down, in the parts he's too scared to look at." He licked the head, and I jerked suddenly, further into his mouth. He allowed it, an indulgent sort of look in his eyes. He pulled off with a pop. "He wants someone to scratch him." Lick, lick, lick. "Someone to bite him." Slurp, lick, lick, kiss. "Someone to claim him, keep him safe from all his monsters, and he'll say he can do it himself, and he can, but he'd feel so happy if someone was willing to help, share the weight." He took me in halfway, and made rumbling, groaning sort of sounds that might've been words without me in him, but as it was they just felt good, pure vibration and sensation, and I grabbed his hair, twisted it around my hands and just pulled. I got a real moan for that, and did it again. He came off with another pop. "I gotta ask, Johnny boy, can you do that, for him? Can you keep him safe from the monsters in his closet and stare his demons in the face. Because he's got a lot of them, me included. If you can't, you're not the man I thought you were, and you're not allowed this, right now. I'll wake you up." I stared at him, at his cool coal eyes, the ones that were unnatural on his face. They needed Harry's fire, Harry's life. That's what was missing from this double, I thought. It wasn't acting fucking alive; it was acting bestial, instinctual. I didn't like it, and I wanted the real one. I'd do anything for the real one.

"Yeah. I'd do… god, I'd do anything for him. Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed." The other Harry smiled, and looked a little more like the real one, for a second.

"Good Johnny. I'll give you what you want; even if I know it'll be second best, to what he'll give you, after you wear him down. Look after him, Johnny, you've got to. Something's coming for him, soon. He'll need you. I'll need you, too. Give him everything, he's hungry for it, for touch that doesn't make him hurt. I am too, really, since we're the same." And then he took me down to the root and sucked hard, hard, hard, and I came with a strangled sound I didn't even know I could make, and he laughed, wiped the extra splatters of come off his face. Then he was gone, everything was, and I woke up. The fancy, black slacks I'd been in were sticky and uncomfortable, now. Shit, shit, shit. And Harry had apparently returned at some point, and I'd apparently missed dinner, and the classes he had after that, because no light streamed in from the room's window and Harry himself was sound asleep on the floor beside me.

Nate had the bed, and I cursed him for it. I cursed myself a little, too, for my dream, and then suddenly recalled something Harry's double had said: something's coming for him, soon. I looked over at him, his face slack with sleep, smooth, lacking the stubble and the small beard his double had, no tension plaguing him, a pale flush high on his cheekbones. He looked human and alive and healthy, and goddamn it, I'd keep him that way, no matter what I had to do. I'd keep him that way, like I'd promised his double. I'd love him, care for him, treat him like the king he was to me. He'd be mine, perfect and beautiful in his own angular, odd way, protected. My head ached sharply, suddenly, and I heard what was my voice, but wasn't.

"There's the idea," it said, cool, carefully blank, lacking any trace of Chicago or Italy or humanity. "Protected. That's what I want, too, even though you want to go against me, or really yourself, at every turn, avoid becoming what it's already known you will become. Like Harry himself, but I do love the silly fool. It's why I came here, to bring him back. You'll do that for me, won't you? Or at least try, and I'll finish the job when I'm back in power. Keep him safe, he needs someone to. He's the most important person to us both." The voice faded, and I realized it was John, the me I would be. I stared up at the ceiling, for a second, and thought that maybe those memories I no longer had, the things that had happened after age eighteen, were just locked away, under the surface with my older self, my older appearance. Just a year, maybe two, left to be Mel. The in-between stage. Harry's double was an asshole. I wanted to sleep again, but couldn't find it in myself. I was sticky, uncomfortable, too hot, and maybe scared of that mystery monster that Harry's double seemed to think was lurking in the shadows. I stood up and shucked off the dirty pants and boxers I had on (they were red silk. I at least had good taste in those), then the shirt, and slid over to where Harry slept, curled beside him. He curled into me, too, and it felt good, his head on my chest, his hair tickling my face. I pecked his forehead, and sleep hit me over the head again. I didn't dream anymore that night.

* * *

Harry's POV

I awoke with my head on someone's chest. That thought did not occur to me before I nuzzled said chest happily, warm and cozy, nor before I swung one leg over the leg of whoever I was sleeping beside and felt that said leg was quite naked, as was the chest I was on. It also did not occur before I felt the arm over my hips, squeezing and releasing at random intervals, or before the revelation that the person smelled really good, expensive, like dark chocolate and fine wine. It did, however, occur before all these pieces fell together in my mind and I realized just exactly whose chest I was using as a pillow. I promptly flipped my shit, which, yes, I am perfectly entitled to do, shut up, and no, I was not having a heterosexual panic over the fact that I really liked napping on that chest and feeling strong arms around me and he did smell really good, and would you look at that, he's naked. I decided I should kick him in the side, because, you know, I'm not childish or anything, and he deserved it. He just made a sort of grunting noise, and flopped over. I gained more intimate knowledge about what his ass looked like than I ever wanted. He has a birthmark, by the way.

I kicked him again, and he actually got up that time, looking for all the world like a lazy jungle cat, his eyes lidded and still a vibrant, jungle green. I was pretty sure that light in his eyes, the bright happiness of youth and emotion, would be the only thing I really and truly missed, when he was back to normal. I didn't dwell on that thought.

"Morning, sweetheart," he told me, all lazy grins and tiger teeth. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I'm not too fond of waking up beside naked mob bosses." He snickered, and scratched his chest. Asshole.

"I'm not a mob boss yet." And a dick. He was certainly both an asshole and a dick. And probably some other things I couldn't think of just then, because he was stretching, and no, I am most certainly not a mooning, star struck teenage girl, why in the world would you make such a ridiculous assumption? Marcone was a bastard in all forms, one of the many banes of my existence. He lived to piss me off, and I lived for the same. I ignored the niggling little voice in my head that said that meant we lived for each other, and hoped for the week to end even though it was only the second day.

"Prick. Come on; get Hendricks up, so we can eat, and so I can get to my classroom." He did as I asked, for once, and then actually had the decency to put on a pair of my sweatpants and one of Hendricks' shirts, even though the former were too tight and the latter nearly fell off of him more than once. We made quite the spectacle when we got down there, me in teacher's robes I'd found on the dresser that morning, more ill-fitting than my official council robe, Hendricks shirtless (more than a few of the students were staring raptly, and even I had to admit that he was… fit, to say the least), and Marcone looking like a very poor, confused clown.

Breakfast was uneventful, compared to the biting incident at lunch the previous day, but I had an annoying sort of discomfort clinging to me, a thought of something being wrong, and I recalled that my black notebook had been on the floor, when I'd come in the previous night, the EBay information I'd wanted beside it, but it'd been too dark and I'd been too tired, so I'd ignored it in favor of sleep. Maybe that hadn't been a good idea, because I needed to know which of my enemies were wealthy enough to come here, which ones had a desire for me. I shifted, and Marcone stared at me.

"Are you alright, honey?" he asked me, and I suddenly heard that fatherly tone again. It was a lot more discomfiting when it came from that young, harsh, voice, filled with more Chicago than any other voice I'd ever heard.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Marcone continued to stare.

"I don't know why, but I'm getting the feeling that when you say that, things are not goddamn fine." Well then. Maybe the Marcone I knew wasn't as gone as I'd thought.

"Well, you're feeling is wrong, Mel." The fact that some part of him knew he was right didn't mean I had to confirm him. He kept a hand somewhere on me through the rest of the meal.

* * *

My first class of the day, first year Slytherins and Gryffindors again, went well, and I went over some basic defensive spells with them, even though I could hardly do some of them myself. I've always said that teaching is one of the best ways of learning, though, and by the end of the class I could almost call myself proficient. It was shaping up to be a pretty good day, really, with Hendricks to help me deal with Marcone and give me a hand when the scumbag-to-be got too grabby. I should know better than to expect good days, at this point, especially since I still didn't bother to check the EBay printout, and since Marcone really seemed to want to come along with me, even going so far as to attempt to wrap himself around my legs like a petulant toddler on the first day of preschool. I think maybe I should've given into him, that time.

* * *

I was halfway through my second class, the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, when all hell broke loose for a second time. The wall of windows that helped light the classroom shattered inwards, and I saw the students that had been by it collapse or run, all of them bloodied, some with glass shards sticking out from their flesh grotesquely. And then the Thing came in. I call it the Thing because there's nothing else to call something like that, a huge, hulking beast with leather skin and scales with thick, viscous slime dribbling from its mouth and teeth and bloodshot, bulbous eyes. It was a nightmare monster, shadows clinging to it, floating off of it in waves, and I readied my blasting rod even as I told the students to run, and they did run. I hoped one of them would have the good sense to tell another teacher, when the thing smacked me hard with one gigantic paw. I flew backwards and crashed into my desk with a sick, fleshy thump, but I've suffered worse, so I scrambled up to my feet, back aching, a headache starting at the base of my skull and working up.

"Fuego!" I yelled, and a jet of flame about the size of my wrist flew at the Thing. They hit their target, but the beast didn't even react, instead stepping right through them with a mindless sort of intensity, the kind only beings so deeply under another's control that their own self was but a distant memory could possess. It scared the hell out of me. "Ventas Servitas!" I tried, and that did at least produce a measurable result, as the Thing slid back a few feet, and growled, shook its head, slathered the slime dripping from its mouth all over the room. Apparently I'd managed to upset it, and it came for me again, the mindless intensity deepening.

I led it around the room in a deadly tango, herding it with wind, until I had it with its back facing the shattered window, by this point resigned that no, no the students had not informed another teacher that there was a giant monster thing about to eat their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and requested that they maybe go assist with that, thank you very much.

"Forzare!" I finally cried, and the invisible wall struck the Thing like a speeding semi. It slammed into him hard, forced him back, back, back, out through the open window. I followed it, peeked out to make sure it was dead, and yeah, I saw it hit the ground, saw it dissolve into thick, gobby bits of ectoplasm, thought I was home free. And then I got hit upside the head with a goddamn baseball bat. Go figure.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up chained to a wall, and I have to say, that really sucks. For the first couple of hours, I'm usually fine. I'm tall enough I can stand up straight, and keep the strain off of my wrists, but eventually my legs start to ache, start to collapse under my weight. I'd obviously been here more than a couple of hours, and to add to that, my ankles were chained too, held tight to the wall so I couldn't shift around to maybe make the pain go away for a couple of minutes, spare my wrists from more aching, bleeding cuts. And the sole of my foot itched maddeningly. I focused on that itch instead of the fact that I was hurting miserably, my head pounding and my muscles screaming at me, like DuMorne had taught me. It was probably the only thing I'd ever thank him for.

Just as I was blocking things out, though, I heard the door I'd hardly noticed at the back of the room open, and the pain and discomfort flooded back, the itch now just a distant sort of thing, an insult to the injury. A man walked in, just above the average height and handsome in a plain sort of way, with dark black eyes that seemed almost red in the half-light of the room and deep brown hair that hung around his face, careful in its disarray. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been in an authentic Roman Gladiator's outfit. The smoke that slid from his lips now, in a thin, barely there stream, was what made me certain that the being before me was who I thought it was.

"Ferrovax," I said, nodding my head once, in greeting. A tiny little smile curled the dragon's lips, and he released a heavy puff of smoke that drifted over and filled my nose with a sickening, brimstone stench that clung to my senses even after it faded into the air.

"Mr. Dresden. After that debacle at Lady Bianca's party, I would have never pictured you as the type to run away." I laughed, and it came out with a sort of wheezy quality that suggested I might just possibly have a broken rib, even if I couldn't imagine where it had come from.

"I don't run, Ferro. Never have. Any reason you're the one kidnapping me this week? I don't think I've done anything to you, at least not recently. We haven't seen each other since that party, and we were talking for hardly five minutes then. I've never actually managed to piss someone off without actually being in the room to piss them off. Ooh, maybe this is a first for me! My maiden's heart is all a flutter!" He laughed, and it came out in a full, deep baritone.

"Indeed? And yet here you are, far from your native Chicago, hiding away in a teaching facility. And you are correct, Mr. Dresden; your action was not a recent one, but rather one from that very evening you spoke of, the night we met, wherein you slighted me with rudeness and disrespect. A mere mortal should know its place in its dealings with its superiors." I rolled my eyes, because Stars, everything supernatural was the same, when it came to me. I wondered just how it was that I was born with all the luck, bad though it be.

"You know, things that think they're better than me have this funny habit of turning up extra crispy." I got another laugh for that.

"My fire is far hotter than yours, Mr. Dresden." Oh, yeah. Dragon. Well, Stars and fucking Stones. I've never fought one of those before. It was more Michael's territory, really. I wondered how I could manage it, trying to call up any memories I had of books about dragon fighting. I'd read about the Dragon's Bane, before, but I could hardly remember what it was.

"I've got more tricks than fire up my sleeve."

"Oh, I know, but I do as well. Do you not remember what I did at the party?" He waved a hand, then, and there was a sudden wall of force pressing into me, hard enough I couldn't breathe. It hurt. It hurt, hurt, hurt, and I thought he'd kill me, but then he released the pressure. "I could kill you whenever I wished, but I should think I would prefer to keep you. A wizard is a sweet prize, you understand. You would be my crown jewel, the piece that sets me, my collection, apart from all others. To have you now is pleasant, I believe, after my failed attempt to bring you under my dominion on that human online marketplace." I'd known that damned EBay thing would come back to bite me in the ass. I didn't think it would come back to bite me in the ass in the form of a dragon who I'd pissed off (it was just that one time, damn it!) and who now wanted to make me into a centerpiece, though. I had to admit that this at least hadn't happened to me before, so Ferrovax did get points for creativity, at the very least. The fucking baseball bat had been a nice touch too.

"You know, funny as it sounds, I've got sort of a problem with that. I don't think I'd make a really good prize, you know? I'm pretty rude, as you've already seen, and I don't think any guests you'd have would appreciate my humor either. None of you bad guys say you do, but hey, I haven't had a gag put on me yet, so I vote that deep inside you all like it." I got an openhanded slap for that, one that knocked my head sideways and put the unpleasant, iron taste of my own blood in my mouth.

"I'm afraid you are incorrect about that, Mr. Dresden. Or Harry, I suppose, since you are now my little wizard." Yeah, now that's one thing you can always do to piss me off: claim me. I don't like it, and I never have. I want to belong somewhere, yeah, with someone, but not be owned. I despise being owned, because it's never worked out for me. People who own me hurt me; make me do their dirty work, and Stones, if I don't have enough of my own dirty work to keep me busy without adding someone else's to the mix. I snarled as best I could, but I'm damn sure I just came across as a starved, desperate animal making a threat to bite off someone's leg. That's what a few people have told me my snarls look like, but I was angry, and yeah, I was scared, so I didn't care. Fear can be a tool too, if you don't let it use you.

"No way in hell, asshole. I'll kill you." There was yet another laugh, and the hand that had hit me laid a gentle touch on the red mark I was sure was blooming on my cheek. I tried to bite him, but he just swatted me softly. It still stung, and his nails were too long.

"I would enjoy watching you attempt it. Be good, Harry, I will return within the hour, with food for you. As it stands, I'm certain you are quite hungry. It has been almost a full day since I brought you here." Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Hell's goddamned Bells. Stars of the sky and Earth's ancient Stones. I felt a sudden ache of despondency, loneliness, because it had been a day and no one had found me yet. That usually meant I'd be on my own. In this situation, against a dragon with probably at least twice my level of power, thousands of years more experience, and a hell of a lot more physical mass and strength, I wasn't sure I could pull my usual brand of miracle out of my ass and get away. Hell if I wouldn't try, though.

* * *

Snape's POV

The students that dragged me to Mr. Dresden's classroom were nearly inconsolable as they shrieked about the monster that he had saved them from, at the cost of himself, cried of his bravery and his strength, and said that they'd wanted to find someone sooner, but they'd just been so scared and so shocked and hadn't known what to do. I wanted to strike at them, and perhaps would have, had they not looked so despaired. Despair… it has always affected me in strange ways. Upon entering his classroom, however, seeing how it stood destroyed and emptied of life, I could nearly break free from the tangled mess the despair had caught me in and feel nothing but anger, righteous and messy, something I had no right to feel, after the things I'd done and seen. I then swept it all away and looked at the scene objectively. The windows were shattered inwards, meaning that had been the entry point of the beast the children shrieked of, and a glance out of them revealed a pool of rapidly evaporating ectoplasm. Mr. Dresden had indeed defeated something, then, but what? And if he had defeated the thing which attacked him and the students, where had he gone? Had there been more, too many for him to deal with the assault on his own?

"You say there was but one attacker?" The students nodded, tears in their eyes, and I felt their youth, their inexperience, radiating off of them.

"Yes, just one, but it was so huge!"

"And what did it look like?" Perhaps if I could decipher what it was I could determine why it had come.

"Scaly, with a giant mouth and big teeth. His teeth were covered in slime. It was disgusting," the calmer of the two said, while the other shuddered beside her.

"What color were the scales?"

"Black."

"And they were all over the creature?"

"Yes. Professor Snape, please, what was it? Why did it attack Professor Dresden?" The description they'd given was not one of any beast I'd heard of, and it could've easily simply been a construct of a formless monster or a demon, designed to frighten. I had little more information than I had when I'd arrived. Mr. Dresden had been teaching, the glass had shattered, the beast had jumped in, he'd sent his students out, and, presumably, fought it and won, as I guessed from the pool of ectoplasm, but then a thought occurred to me: Mr. Dresden was a well-known combat mage. There would be few on the darker end of things that would think one beast would take him down. A distraction. The monster, sending it whilst there'd been children in the room; it had been to distract him from the true threat. That which had taken him, and left no trace beyond a simple lack of Mr. Dresden in the room. The door behind me, which I'd left only slightly open, crashed against the wall, and a snarling projectile of a human being shot inside, closely followed by a red haired tank of a man who had the sort of look on his face you can only produce if you've known someone too long and have long discovered that there is nothing you can do to stop them when they get into certain moods. The projectile paused in the center of the room, and his eyes, bright hunter's green, tracked around the room, predatory enough that I would have felt discomforted had I not seen far worse over the years of my life.

"Shit. Nate, shit. I fucking said something was going to happen. I fucking said I needed to be in here. I fucking said, Nate." I recognized, suddenly, that the human projectile before me was little more than a child, although one who had apparently developed a great interest in bedding his colleague. Those eyes of his, the ones I'd seen Mr. Dresden staring into before, were wet with unshed tears, and his fists were clenched tightly enough that his knuckles were white and he was shaking.

"How did you know that something like this would occur?" I asked, shooing the students out of the room, as they seemed rather frightened of Mr. Marcone, which was rather understandable, after the incident with the seventh year the previous day. The teenager whipped around, and something dark blazed in his eyes as he stomped forward towards me, and clutched my robes in a fierce grip. I stared at him blankly, a practiced, measured stare I've perfected on my students. I didn't affect him, and he decided instead to release his rage onto me.

"Don't fucking talk to me, bastard. I know what you want, take credit for what I knew, what I'm going to do, save him. You think he'd screw you for that?" He shook me, trying for intimidation, but I'd seen stares like his before, desperate, perhaps alone, but not threatening, not really. He was a child, weak, new. I allowed him to release his anger on me nonetheless, though his words held little truth. "I love him, I do, I need… I promised I'd take care of him, and that's what I'll fucking do. I need… I need to get to sleep again; maybe I'll see other Harry and he'll tell me where the real one is." The red haired tank jerked Mr. Marcone off of me.

"Sorry, man, Mel's not doing so hot right now. He's scared, you know? For Dresden. He gets like this, sometimes, even when he's older; wanting to blame someone for the fact that trouble follows Dresden around. I think Gard told me once that Loki had Dresden's number, or something like that. Don't know if she was joking or not, though. Anyway, I'm sorry for him. He's not usually this bad, wasn't this bad even when he was at this age naturally." I nodded, and straightened my robes.

"It is alright. I have been in love before, though it was many years ago, before the second great war of wizards."

"You guys have wars?"

"More often than I'd like to admit. A powerful warlock comes to power, gains minions, and we all must fight. A chosen child who shared Mr. Dresden's name killed the previous. He graduated last year, and, I believe, is now an Auror. It was his mother that I loved, though she died shortly after his birth, as did his father, at the hands of the warlock." The red head actually winced.

"Sorry, man. Sorry. Mel, he's not trying to fuck your wizard, okay? Stand still for a minute, and just feel the air around him. It feels like the air around Dresden. He's tough, okay? He can help you find Harry." Mr. Marcone settled slowly.

"Fine. Whatever. I can deal with him, for now. Since you seem to trust him, Nate. You asked me how I knew, right? I had a dream, where some part of Harry appeared to me, his survival instinct, I think. It looked like him, but it wasn't quite him. He told me that he thought something dangerous was coming, something I needed to protect him from, but Nate and Harry wouldn't let me fucking go with him, today." There was a growl present in his voice, but it felt more like an attempt to hide than any real anger. I felt for the boy, truly, for I knew how it felt, when the one you've given your love to is ripped away. It's one of the most painful, torturous situations imaginable, really, something I'd not wish on anyone, not even Mr. Marcone, who had been rude to me ever since his arrival.

"I will put you to sleep, then, for exactly one hour. You will attempt to find this 'other Harry', and see if he can lead us to whoever has taken the real one. You may do this in Mr. Dresden's quarters, whilst I attempt to clean this classroom, and handle the classes he will not be here for," I paused to pull my wand from my sleeve and aim it at Mr. Marcone, "Somnus." He dropped immediately into heavy sleep, and the red head picked him up with ease and walked him back to Mr. Dresden's bedroom. I set to work repairing the windows, the shattered desks, and torn papers, as well as the curiously large hole in the floor. I supposed it would be rather entertaining to watch the man fight, one day. Perhaps, when he returned, he'd consent to a duel of sorts with me. I wondered why I was so certain he would return alive.

* * *

Marcone's POV

The snake bastard's spell dropped me like a rock, and I fell with almost frightening speed into a cold, dark room where three walls were bars and the only furniture was an ugly, dirty cot and a threadbare wooden chair. The Harry who wasn't sat on the chair, and, sprawled on the bed, was a beautiful woman with long, hair that was rapidly shifting from color to color, blonde one second, then red, then brown, and back again, and was dressed in a white tunic that hardly kept her decent. I ignored her.

"I need help," I begged, and almost hated myself afterwards.

"I was right, wasn't I? You should've listened," the other Harry said, his arms crossed over his skinny chest. The woman on the bed laughed, softly, prettily, and her hair settled on dark brown, almost black.

"He tried, but our host is stubborn, is he not? It's lucky he's unconscious, right now, and not willing to speak with us." The other Harry sighed.

"Yeah? You really like flaunting that you can see what's going on and I usually can't, don't you?" She gave a teasing little half-smile.

"Maybe so. Mr. Marcone, how are you?"

"I'm not fucking Marcone, I'm Mel. Where the hell is this? What do you mean Harry's unconscious, is he okay?" She smiled.

"For now, maybe for a while, until his mouth gets him into yet more trouble. And please, Mr. Marcone, I wish not to argue with you about identity. I see you as Harry did and does: John Marcone. I cannot see you any other way, as my awareness is tied to his, at the moment. You are in his head, by the way, a dark corner where he keeps the things he does not want to see. At the moment, that is the two of us."

"I know him," I began, jerking a thumb at the other Harry, "But who the fuck are you?"

"He calls me Lash. I believe that is all you need to know, is it not? You wish to help him, don't you? To free him? You cannot do it alone, or even with the help of your Valkyrie, your henchmen, and that Severus man. He was taken by a very ancient dragon, one of the eldest yet living, one whom he slighted at a party, many years ago. It is why I mentioned his sharp tongue." The other Harry sighed.

"Always got to steal the thunder, Lash honey. I already know this younger Johnny. We're very well… acquainted with one another, already." She laughed.

"You've slept with him already? And here I'd hoped for the chance."

"I think he's smitten, though. He probably couldn't even get it up with you. He came down my throat, though. Hardly took any time at all. But hey, Lash, if you're wanting something, you know I'll give it." Holy hell, apparently Harry's survival instinct was a whore, and was apparently not worried about Harry at all. I was getting pissed about it.

"You're talking about fucking when Harry's in danger," I hissed out, my own arms tight over my chest, my nails digging in hard to the skin they could reach. Lash smiled.

"My host is resilient, he will last, and it will be many hours yet before he even awakens. His skull was struck hard with a blunt object, but he is still functioning properly. Were he not, he would not have been able to relegate his ID and me to this cage."

"And besides, what else am I supposed to think of, Johnny? I told you, I like fucking. Fucking is fun, and Harry refuses to do it. The idiot won't even masturbate. I've tried to get him to, so I won't want so much, but he refuses every time, says it's bad for focus and makes him feel alone. I swear, he isn't even human sometimes." I could see the other Harry straining, a little, squirming in his seat, and Lash laughed, a serene smile on her face.

"But do you not think that such purity is attractive, in some ways? Imagine yourself in the shoes of a partner of his. Would you not find it… empowering, the idea that he came only for you, for your touch?"

"You're just a kinky bitch, Lash baby. You like watching us guys beg," he said, a crooked grin that looked uncomfortably like Harry's own painting his face.

"Perhaps so, but does it truly matter? You enjoy it, and Harry would too, if he'd try, but he refuses." I snarled, and glared at the both of them.

"What's the damned dragon's name, and where is he?"

"Ferrovax," said the other Harry, "And they're in Ferrovax's territory in the Nevernever. Somewhere in Winter. Ferrovax wants to make Harry into a prize, since wizards are a valuable commodity among dragons. If a dragon can get a powerful one, and keep it without killing it, he automatically gains a shit ton of respect." Fear. It's a powerful feeling, I've always known that. Fear was a lot of what made me who I was. I was afraid of dying, of those few I cared for dying, so I worked to make myself stronger. I practiced with knives and guns and hand to hand and made ties with the mob, made plans to overthrow the mob's ruling family of Chicago, and apparently I'd done it. All of that, though, it wouldn't do shit for me now, wouldn't help me save Harry. I woke up with a sudden shock.

"A dragon. A dragon has him. Named… named Ferrovax. They're in some place called the Nevernever, in Ferrovax's territory," I gasped out, and Nate looked at me and cursed. Snape winced, released a sigh, and a blonde, almost Amazonian woman I didn't recognize remained expressionless, though she nodded.

"We will need more than we have, then. Ferrovax is a powerful beast."

"Who're you?" I asked, softly, "How the fuck would you know?" She appeared shocked for a minute, and Nate, rubbed his head.

"I work for you, Mr. Marcone." I snarled, and god, I was getting so damn tired of being called that. I hated the name and hated the man that had my face, my feelings, but wasn't me.

"I'm Mel. Call me that or don't fucking call me anything. How are we getting to where Harry is? I need to save him." She stared, eyes cold, frozen blue pools of ice, and she was beautiful, yeah, but it was remote, untouchable, a sort of faraway beauty I'd never touch or want to touch.

"Yes sir, Mel. It seems your age has changed more than I perhaps would have first assumed. I can easily open a Way into the Nevernever, find the territory of mighty Ferrovax, but to go fight him now would be little more than suicide. Great Ferrovax has not lived as long as he has by being poor in a battle. There are few that could even have a hope of standing against him. Even I, without the intervention of my employer, would have no chance in such a fight."

"What do we need, then? You all say I've got power, influence. Tell me what we need, and I'll get it. I'd rather die than not try to save him." The woman's lips curled almost mockingly, and Nate heaved another sigh.

"Love is a foolish thing. A Knight, perhaps, would serve us now, one of the Cross." Nate cursed.

"Are you talking about Dresden's friend, Gard?" She shrugged, graceful, slight.

"Perhaps, though the other that lives, Sanya, would serve just as well, and should we suddenly find a being to take up the blade in Mr. Dresden's apartment, they, too, would serve perfectly." I stared, hard and cold as I could manage, but I knew it probably looked weak, like I was a child trying to play an adult's game, and maybe I was, but fuck all, I was afraid and I couldn't do anything about it except maybe I could.

"I don't know those two men. Let me take up the sword Harry has." Nate stared at me.

"Mel, that's not a good idea," he tried, but I cut him off. Angry, scared, a child in a suddenly too big world, but I had to something and I would do something.

"Shut up. Shut up. I'm going to get the sword. I'm going to kill that fucking thing. I just now found out that this magic shit is real, and even if I've always sort of suspected it, I'm in over my head. I don't fucking care. I don't know fuck all about the supernatural, but I'm doing this, because I don't know those two assholes you were talking about, so I'm not going to trust them to save my Harry's life." Nate looked like he wanted to say something, but Gard held up her hand.

"Mr. Hendricks, if it is his desire to take up the sword, there is little we can do to prevent it. Mr. Mel, come." She waved a hand, and there was a sudden tear in the very air, a pathway where before there'd been empty space. Nate seemed to trust her, so I stepped through.

* * *

I could've been on that pathway for hours or seconds, I didn't really know, but suddenly the woman tore open another place. I saw an apartment, on the other side, one without windows, but there were candles everywhere and the floors were covered in rugs. The furniture was all mismatched but comfortable looking, and tapestries hung on the walls. There were bookshelves, too, ones that sagged under the weight of all the paperbacks strewn haphazardly over them. I caught sight of a sword immediately, placed with care on the mantel of the fireplace. I stepped through the tear in the air quickly, with ease, and snatched the blade up. It hurt.

It made my fingertips burn, sent a harsh, stinging stab of pain up my arm, tightened my tendons to near impossibility, made my shoulder feel like it was being wrenched out of socket, my wrist feel like it was breaking, breaking, breaking a hundred times. I didn't drop it, though. I held it even though I was shaking, and god, but it hurt. I'd been hurt before, many times, by people a lot bigger than me. I'd had my fingers broken one by one, I'd been stabbed, I'd been shot and beaten until I was little more than a bloody mess on the floor, and this hurt more, this innocuous bamboo sword I was doing nothing more than holding. The pain spread to my head, thumping, over and over, an endless litany of nothing but pain, pain I'd never felt, never even known the true meaning of. And then it stopped, and a sweet, soothing feeling covered the aches like a balm.

It was a cool, gentle sensation, a million hands teasing away the terrible misery, and then I felt human again, like something more than a blazing mass of agony. And then there was nothing, and it was like I'd never touched the sword at all, though I still held it in my hands in a vice grip. Through it all, Gard had only stared, blank and cool and empty. I wondered if that was how people perceived the man I'd one day be, Marcone. I hated the thought, and swept back through the tear Gard had kept open, back down the seconds-hours-days pathway, and back into Harry's room. Nate stared at me.

"You're fucking insane. You've got to be. No other explanation. How in hell did that thing let you pick it up?"

"It wasn't supposed to?" I asked, voice low. It was Gard that answered

"No. It is a weapon of perfect purity, meant to be held by those that share that purity, such as Harry's friend Michael, or the other living Knight, Sanya, and the deceased Knight that once held that blade, Shiro. It should not have allowed you to wield it."

"Purity of purpose," I hissed. "Now get me to that motherfucking dragon." And then they Nate laughed. Not the kind of laugh I've heard him give when something was genuinely funny to him, but the sort of laugh anyone would produce when the tension is too high and it's either you laugh or you cry. I joined him in it, but I think I cried a little too, even if I scrubbed my eyes clear before Gard tore open another hole in the air. Snape stared at it dubiously as frozen wind, icier than even that I'd felt in Chicago in the middle of winter, enough to freeze me to the bone.

"Are you quite certain that that is the correct region?" Gard nodded.

"I am, Professor Snape. I have known the location of Ferrovax for quite a long time, as I have had to converse with him more than once. He will be displeased that I am no longer his ally. Come, all of you. Are there any others you would like to accompany us, Mr. Mel?" I shook my head.

"No. Nate trusts you, that's the only reason you're going, and Snape… you're strong, that's the only reason for you. If I could just go with Nate, I would." Distrust. I'd felt it before, towards countless people, once even towards Nate himself, during a particularly dark time, but this time… this time the feeling wasn't given to me in return. I could only feel indifference, from Snape, maybe a touch of a wish to save his colleague, and from Gard there was a little touch of curiosity, and… she trusted me or Nate or Snape or someone, and damn, it was strange, to be given trust and not return it. I stared at her, cool as could through the fear, and shit, I was afraid, and stepped through the opening. The others followed me, and when Gard closed the opening behind her, I could feel the cold even more intensely, and wished I had a jacket. Wishes didn't do shit.

* * *

We weren't walking for long before we ran into a tower that spiraled up, up, up into the air, cutting through smoky gray clouds and stabbing the dark sky above. I couldn't help but spare a thought to how cliché it was even as I tried to shoulder the door down. It didn't give way, like some doors had when I'd done that, and Snape scoffed at my attempt, the fucking prick. He then waved his wand at the door, flicked it almost disdainfully and muttered a word I couldn't repeat to save my life. The door swung open, and I glared.

"Thought you guy said this dragon was tough?" Gard smiled as she rushed through.

"There are very few beings that would be stupid enough to attempt a direct siege of Ferrovax's dwelling. Ferrovax realizes this, and thus took few precautions with wards and the like." I snickered and rushed in after her. Stupid, yeah, maybe it was, but fuck it. You're allowed to be stupid for people you love.

* * *

Harry's POV

For all I could say about Ferrovax, he kept his promise and brought me dinner, and I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by that. However distantly, the dragons were related to the fay, and when they spoke, they couldn't lie. Twist and bend the truth until it was so distorted it was unrecognizable, give non-answers to direct questions, yeah, they could get behind all that, but not lying. Lying, as I've heard some of them say, is a skill that only we humans have, and we've got it down to a science. We can lie until we're blue in the face, lie to those we love, and certainly to those we hate. We're good at it. It amazes me that the fay can be disgusted by that, after some of the things they've done (including, but not limited to, the stealing of souls, the eating and/or enslaving of one's firstborn, and of course, the all-time favorite of mine, kidnapping you and making you a pet, whether in your own form or another). The dragons, though, were almost like the other fay on steroids, in that they lacked the traditional fear and pain of iron, and knew their way around words even better. From what I'd seen, though, Ferrovax was at least relatively straight forward, and that was likely the most I could hope for.

I noticed that he'd dropped part of his human form, in that he was allowing thick, black scales plated with silver and gray to appear on his forearms and cheeks, up around to his forehead, down his neck, and, I assumed, his chest and belly. He'd also let his already too long nails lengthen into deadly razor claws, a tail dragged along behind him, and large bat-like wings were folded against his back. All in all, he was far from the innocuous man he tried to make himself out to be, and the deadly power he held radiated off of him in waves. There was also that certain look in his eyes, that certain beings could pull off, that don't fuck with me glint that I'd always tried for but never quite been able to pull off.

"Would you like to eat now, Harry?" he asked me, holding the food out in peace, and his voice had dropped an octave or two. I could see, in his mouth, teeth better suited to a beast than something like him, something that was all the more frightening because it could seem so human. The scent of the food he was holding wafted over to me, smoked meat, I knew, maybe fresh. Probably fresh, I amended. I turned my head away from it.

"I don't eat food from the Nevernever." He smiled, and those teeth appeared again, made me shudder. I don't like things with big teeth, okay? It makes me feel like I'm facing the big bad wolf, and I'm not too fond of playing little red.

"Harry, I promise you that I am not attempting to be the Hades to your Persephone. This meal is not enchanted in any way. I will partake of some myself, if it will ease your doubts." I laughed.

"Yeah? Sorry man, but I don't feel like pomegranate seeds today. Maybe in a few weeks, huh? When I'm starving. Except for I'll probably be gone by then anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"You've much faith in yourself." I grinned, sly, like I knew something he didn't, like I was a step ahead even if I may have been a hundred behind.

"I put on my robe and my wizard's hat. Armor is increased by two points. Magic power is increased by fifty points. Charisma is decreased three points. I cast fire at my foe, the Dread Dragon, and it loses two hundred and fifty health points." See? My practice with Billy and the Werewolves paid off, as I am now perfectly prepared for any supernatural battle, and if you have even the slightest desire to point out that I never play as a wizard when we're playing those games, then I have a very large desire to, very politely, inform you that you should go fuck yourself. Also, my charisma was dropped three points, I can't help it if I'm not very polite. Ferrovax stared at me blankly, maybe trying to puzzle out just when I went around the bend and never came back, and how I'd managed to do so in the short hour he'd been gone, but I just kept grinning. "Not going to play your turn?"

"You are being foolish again. These silly words you speak mean nothing to me, and I question why you're speaking them." I rolled my eyes.

"It's a game, Ferro. Something mortals play. I'm in a group for it. I usually lose, but still. I think I can beat you." He laughed.

"We are not playing a game, Harry. This is real life, now eat," he told me, and ripped a chunk off with his fingers, holding it up to my lips, I stared at it disdainfully, feeling a little like Mister, even though my stomach growled angrily, and fuck all, I hadn't gotten to eat much at breakfast, really. The last good, totally filling meal I'd had had been dinner the previous evening, and who knew how long ago that had been.

"No." He sighed, maybe angry, but not willing to blow up, not yet.

"I will not have my new prize die of starvation so quickly. You will be my most wonderful piece, the thing for which I can brag to my brethren, perch atop my gold and jewels, decorate in crowns and rings and silks." He sighed, and forcefully shoved the piece of food passed my lips. I choked and coughed, but he slid it all the way to the back of my throat, then held my mouth closed and slid two fingers down my neck, forcing me to swallow. Asshole. I tried to bite him again, but he just traced his fingers over my cheek and patted it softly, before he yanked another piece of meat free. "Will you take this piece willingly, or shall I force feed you again?" Fuck it; I'd already swallowed one piece. Eating more wouldn't do anything else. If the meat had bound me to the damned thing, it wouldn't bind me deeper if I ate more, and if it was going to kill me, I wouldn't die any slower hungry. I opened my mouth, and he smiled as he slid the second piece in. I chewed, swallowed mechanically, and allowed him to slide piece after piece into my mouth until it was all gone. He patted my hair with oily fingers and I just stared. As soon as he was gone, I supposed, I could see if I could break from the chains. And then he broke them himself, and yeah, I can admit that I was pretty confused.

"What the fuck?" He laughed.

"I told you that you are to be my prize. Why in the world would I keep my best jewel in the dungeons where it could not be seen? You are to be displayed." He wrapped a hand around my wrist quickly, before I could even think of running, and it was tight enough that I knew any attempt at fleeing would likely shatter the bone, which I really didn't want to deal with right then. I had a sudden thought about Marcone, about how he'd been throwing himself at me since yesterday, about how he had, for one reason or another, chased me to Hogwarts, and wanted to laugh and cry and a lot of other things I wouldn't do. So much for him 'loving' me, although I knew I'd be a hypocrite if I was bitter about it. He had no reason to chase after me, not when the situation was so obviously dangerous, and certainly not when Snape would probably advise against it, as would Hendricks. I liked Snape, really, he seemed like a decent guy, but I couldn't imagine he'd risk his skin, not for me, not so soon. I don't really make friends easily, despite how some people have said that I either make people want to immolate me or want to get immolated beside me. People take a long time to trust me, want to be near me, and I stretch and strain that trust constantly, with the things I do and say and feel. Snape wouldn't come to save me at risk to him or those he'd worked with for years, and I wouldn't blame him for it. I could get out on my own anyway, given enough time to plan and think things through and oh Hell's Bells, I'd probably just start a fire and run.

Ferrovax dragged me up a long, spiraling flight of stairs, higher and higher, and I knew I would've felt the air grow then, if I hadn't been in the Nevernever. He opened an intricate door with patterns wrought in silver and gold, images of flames and ice and battle and conquest frozen forever on cool, hard wood. On the other side of that door there were heaps of riches, things a dragon would spend years collecting, obsessively hoarding away. Some was in chests, recognizable for the Council seal placed upon them, likely tribute for safe passage through his lands, and at the head of the room there was even a golden throne inlaid with glittering rubies and sapphires and opals and other, rarer things I recognized but couldn't name. There was a spike inlaid into the floor beside it, and I could feel the power that flowed from it. It was made of an ancient metal, one that had long been forgotten by the minds of men, and the shackles attached to it were made of the same stuff. Ferrovax literally threw me at them, and I wasn't even able to scramble to my feet before he latched them to my ankles, and I certainly wasn't able to grab at any of the weapons he hadn't bothered to divest me from before he took my duster away from me and buried it beneath piles of his treasures. I glared at him, but he just smiled and scrubbed my hair.

"Try to call magic, will you? I'd like to make sure those shackles are working properly," he said, and I snarled, staunchly refusing. He then punched me in the stomach; nearly hard enough to make me vomit up whatever he'd fed me. I coughed, and the sick feeling lingered, as he hit my chest, and grabbed my arm, twisting it around until I could feel it pulling against ligaments and tendons and simple anatomy, until my shoulder popped out of socket. I will say for myself that I didn't scream, even though it hurt like hell, because my shoulder has been wrenched out before. Stars, my shoulder's been shot before, actually. I could deal with that. To be honest, I could probably even fight with it that way, for a while. He shoved it back into place, then wrenched it out again. Fuck, he'd do it for hours, I knew, until I gave in and did what he wanted. Like I gave a damn.

"You think that's going to break me? You'll have to get more creative." Back into socket.

"I don't want you broken. A broken toy isn't fun to play with." Back out. He'd permanently damage it, if he kept up, maybe to the point I couldn't use it anymore at all. Back in.

"If this isn't a game, then I'm not a toy," I told him, and yeah, my breath was coming a little heavier now, and the dull thump thump thump in my head was suddenly playing second fiddle to the throbbing, constant ow ow ow in my shoulder. I honestly should've been a lot more used to pain than I was, by that point, but pain really is a motivator. I summoned up a little of my will, but the shackles around my ankles sent a sharp burst of something like lightning through me, and the gathered will dissipated. He dropped my shoulder and smiled again, and I noticed that his nails had dug through my thin shirt, and the wounds were bleeding, a little. Shit, I hated bleeding. My blood is kind of a problem more often than not, if I'm being honest, because from what I've seen, the only purpose it ever seems to serve is giving someone or something the means to kill me or someone else. Wizard's blood is pretty potent stuff. Ferrovax politely ignored it, which was actually a big surprise.

"Yes, it seems they're working wonderfully! I had them made especially for you, you see. It will not block your magic, nor hide it from those that would look for it, but will simply stop you from gathering enough concentration to use it properly. It's a delicate little device, far more subtle than the manacles of similar make." Yeah, of course he had to brag. People like to brag to me when they kidnap me, like it's some huge feat or something, but hey, I get kidnapped at least every other week, and every week when it's busy. It can't be all that hard to kidnap a Harry Dresden, if it happens that often.

"Done bragging yet?" He smirked.

"To you, perhaps, but I'm certain I'll soon have guests that will just love to see you. Please, sit, I would like to decorate you now." There was an odd, childish sort of glee on his face when he whipped around, his tail dragging groves into the coins and gems and chains that littered the ground, and then crouched down, digging through piles and piles of jewelry, and coming up with countless, thick bracelets with inlaid stones that probably had the worth of about three Blue Beetles and six months of rent for my apartment. On his other hand was a necklace that looked like it'd weigh at least twenty pounds, one of those weird ones that covers your neck and your collar bones and the tops of your shoulders, the sort I'd always thought were strange and uncomfortable and wondered why anyone would even want to wear them. He sat it all on the ground beside me, and then tore my teaching robe and the t-shirt I'd had on under it away and across the room. He put the necklace on me first, hooking it with countless buckles and clasps and ties and holy shit, did anyone ever put one of the damn things on by themselves? The bracelets were much easier, even though he jerked my rings off along with my shield bracelet and tossed them somewhere else, but not before sparing a vaguely disgusted look at them. The gold was unspeakably heavy, and I could hardly move my arms for them. He didn't seem to care, and instead dug around in a pile and slid a few rings on my fingers. He still didn't seem satisfied, though, and he looked at me appraisingly. He then proceeded to tear my pants and underwear off, along with my shoes, and slide smaller rings onto my toes and large anklets underneath the shackles. I glared at him, gaping, because shit, this was kind of ridiculous, and this is the guy who's dealt with flying jet puffed miniature marshmallows spitting Coke before. Ridiculous is like my normal, and even I thought this dragon was stupid. Stars and Stones.

"Hell's Bells, are you done yet? I'm not exactly gorgeous, and I don't think more shiny things are going to change that." He stabbed a long, dangling earring through my left ear, and I hissed. I'd never wanted pierced ears, even though I've had some people suggest the idea to me, but it seemed like I'd get them now whether I wanted them or not. Another earring went into the other side, and I could feel the blood drip down and, presumably, land on my brand new necklace. He wiped it up, looking almost feral, and I noticed that his eyes had shifted from black to the usual golden cat eyes of the fay. It was more proof of the distant relationship between the two, I supposed numbly, staring over at him. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped around the earrings, then moved to the holes that were still visible on my shoulder and wiped them as well, though most of them were covered by the heavy necklace. It was while he was doing this, though, that the door crashed open, and a blurry, vaguely human shape shot into the room, yelling too loudly, a vague battle cry without any real words, and all I could really tell was that whoever it was, they were holding a sword that practically hummed with power. Ferrovax sidestepped the human bullet easily, and actually managed to tuck the handkerchief back into his jacket in the process.

"Damn it," heard the person hiss, and I recognized the voice as Marcone's, recognized the sword as Shiro's, Fidelacchius. Oh come on! Was the Big Man having an off day? I didn't think He could possibly be that desperate for a new wielder to the sword, and really, didn't Marcone have enough power without it? Shouldn't someone meek have picked it up and gained great new power, or something? You know, like a real life Peter Parker? That seemed more like it should've been more the guy upstairs' idea, really, not some mobster who already ruled an entire city, and probably more than that, if I thought about it. I wondered where he'd even gotten it, why he hadn't just asked Michael if he thought a Knight of the Cross was necessary, and then remembered he wouldn't know Michael yet, but Hendricks and Gard, who stormed in after him, would have.

"I told you to wait," Gard hissed, crouching, a double bladed ax gripped tightly in her fingers.

"If I'd waited, my fucking wizard would've been on his hands and knees by now," Marcone snarled, holding the sword tightly in front of him, parrying blows from Ferrovax's claws awkwardly, but parrying them nonetheless. I assumed it was partly the sword itself doing that, but I wouldn't complain, even though his comment had sort of pissed me off. Snape crept into the room slowly, attempting to be unnoticed, and while Ferrovax didn't acknowledge him, I knew there was no way the dragon hadn't seen him. I heard Hendricks click the safety off of a gun and then heard the rapid click clunk click clunk of automatic gunfire. Marcone growled, and lunged forward, Fidelacchius held out to stab through the dragon's stomach, but he slid out of the way with serpentine grace, and I could almost see him start to shift completely out of his human form, which would, I knew, make him nigh on invincible. I saw Snape make his way beside me and lift the shackles, mumbling quiet spell after quiet spell. They held solid through it all, and I cursed, tried again to summon my will. The electricity sparked through me again, and as my concentration broke so did the gathering. Snape grunted out another spell, and still nothing happened, but he kept it up, and hey, at least he was tenacious, and I couldn't talk since I'd assumed no one would show up anyway.

Gard twisted gracefully, her movements careful, beautiful and ancient and so practiced that it made me shudder to think of how many battles she'd fought and won. Snape hissed another spell, and I heard more gunfire from Hendricks as Marcone twisted and dived, lunging clumsily with the sword as he tried street fighting techniques on a dragon that could've very easily been millennia old. The thought of it almost made me laugh, but I ignored the urge as another spell fell from Snape's lips, and finally, finally, as Gard landed a glancing blow on Ferrovax, the shackles popped loose. I kicked them away immediately, along with the rings on my toes and fingers, and then pulled the bracelets free as quickly as I could as I dug around in the pile where he'd thrown my duster, and then tugged the leather garment over my shoulders. The necklace, earrings, and anklets I didn't even bother removing as I plucked my blasting rod free from the loop in my coat and watched Marcone roll away from an attack by Ferrovax. I didn't question why that made me so idiotically happy, and instead yelled my favorite word, sending a bright flare of flame towards the dragon. I only managed to catch his hand, though, and all that did was piss him off.

"Pets," he hissed at me, still effortlessly dodging Marcone's clumsy sword swings and Gard's expert movements with her ax and Hendricks' bullets, "Should not bite their Master's hands." Marcone snarled, and the holy sword actually landed a glancing blow, creating a deep gash in Ferrovax's leg that made him snarl. Wisps of flame slid suddenly from between his teeth, and I ran, faster than I ever have, to dive in front of Marcone, calling the best shield I could without my bracelet. I knew I could hold it for at least a few seconds, maybe fast enough for Marcone to get away, but not much longer than that, not against dragon flame, and then I felt more power being funneled into the shield and caught sight of Snape, words falling in rapid fire succession from his lips, his wand out, and I felt a shaking hand land on my bicep. Marcone's eyes were wide, his pupils so blown with adrenaline that the green was hardly visible, and they were a little damp.

"You're okay," he gasped out as the fire ceased, "Oh hell, you're okay, thank god, you're okay, Harry, I love you," he managed, as I grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the way, allowing for Gard to land another hit that ripped the beast's back open, allowing too red blood to flow heavily from the torn flesh, and a bullet thumped hard into the scales on his neck and scuffed them up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It'd take at least four stupidly ancient dragons to kill me," I said, a half grin on my lips as I sent another burst of flame after Ferrovax, and Snape yelled a word with too many S's that sent a lance of black energy at the thing. It struck, and a wide, gaping black wound opened there, more black leaking out of it like smoke, but the dragon only growled and lashed out with long, sharp claws that had grown longer and sharper, slicing across Gard's chest and only getting half caught on her shield. She bled, and she bled heavily, but I knew she'd had worse and she just ignored it. I supposed that maybe I hadn't been the only one taught with pain, taught to fight through it and ignore it because it didn't matter and hurt would always be there, no matter what. I hissed out a force spell and Ferrovax turned towards me, then suddenly changed into his natural form.

Even though I'd been expecting it, the simple sight of it, the sheer size of him, made my breath catch, and I shoved Marcone, who looked to be wanting to jump back into the fray, behind me. I would trust him in a fight against anything human, certainly, whether in his youth or how I knew him, would trust him to that maybe even more than I'd trust myself, but something supernatural like this, something with ancient power and strength that could now step on him like an ant if it chose to, well, I was trained in things like that, and I certainly didn't think I could beat it. The thing stomped over to me and very nearly roared in my face. I sent out more force and another lance of lashing flame, Hellfire tangling tightly into both spells, making them stronger than I'd usually dare to cast, and they both struck the thing hard and sent him back a few feet. Hendricks continued to shoot as best he could, but the bullets that had at least been able to strike a few minor blows, at least where his skin had been free of scales, now bounced off harmlessly. I had to give him props for trying, though. Gard's ax dug into Ferrovax's hind leg, but he just growled and kicked. Gard went flying, crashed into the stone and landed harshly into a pile of gold. She jumped back up, and Hell's Bells, if ever anyone could ever really be held together with superglue and sheer grit, it was her.

"Stay here, Mel. Or, actually, go stand with Cujo, try and keep each other safe," I told him, and jumped into the fight myself, because that's how I am. I don't like thinking about things first, since that usually makes me remember that hey, there's a really good chance that I'm going to die, so maybe I should stay home today. Marcone, being Marcone, completely ignored me and got back into the fight, deftly dodging snaps and kicks from the dragon and doing his damndest to cause damage, even though the most he usually ended up with was tiny little cuts that hardly bled. Snape screamed another word that would've sounded heavy and awkward on my tongue, and tiny little violet arrows started flying from his wand, and the thunk thunk thunk sound they made as they struck Ferro's body sounded promising. I grinned over at the dark haired man, hoping to get across that he so needed to show me that and the too-many-S's spell sometime later. Marcone actually managed to spare a glare at Snape, and then actually ran underneath the dragon's belly and thrust his sword up, digging in as best he could through the thick scales. Ferrovax howled, a little, and tried to drop down on top of Marcone, squish him where he stood, but the man dropped into a roll and got away. I had to admit that the asshole had a hell of a lot more skill at things like that than I ever would, but it seemed like he'd only pissed the dragon off more. I racked my brain for something that I could use, trying my hardest to remember what I'd read, what Dragon's Bane was, and wished Bob was there to tell me. I couldn't summon the memory, though, so I worked with what I had and thought as best I could.

Ferrovax was prancing all over the room, now, and it was all Hendricks could do to keep from being crushed, even though Gard was doing her best to keep the thing away from him. Snape was still firing the magic arrows, but mostly they just seemed to piss it off. Thus far, the only injury that seemed to be actually bothering it was the slice through its belly, even though I could see my burn on its left front paw. I needed to keep it still, I noticed, that might've been all I could do, but I knew I didn't know a binding nearly strong enough to hold it.

"Mel!" I yelled, and he ran to my side immediately, as I cast a quick, sharp fuego to keep him from getting too close to me. "I'm going to try something, but I can't hold it for long, okay? A minute, maybe less. The cut from Fidelacchius is all that seems to be bothering it, even though Gard's been hacking away at him this whole battle, and I'm sure those arrows aren't painless. As soon as he stops moving, I want you to run at him, but if I tell you to go, you go, yeah?" He nodded, serious, the sword gripped in his hands like it was a baseball bat, and his inexperience wafted off of him. Stars and Stones, but he was still just a kid, in a lot of ways, like this. From what I could tell, he hadn't even watched Amanda get hurt, yet, hadn't had to suffer through the idea that a little girl died from a bullet that should've been his. Fear for him, for drawing him into this battle when he didn't know what he was getting into, even though I hadn't asked for his help, gave me a burst of energy, and I held my blasting rod tightly, not exactly keen on casting all these spells that weren't fire with it, since I knew they would put a hell of a lot of strain on it.

"Gravitus!" I yelled, and gathered the gravity in the air into a pulsing, aching mass, forced it all on top of Ferrovax, forced him down against the floor where he couldn't move, and Stars, it hurt. The human body wasn't meant to do something like this, I knew, wasn't meant to take something so base, so original, and attempt to control it. Gravity was a prime force of nature, one of its strongest, and it wasn't an element, wasn't a part of the pentacle, the symbol of magic. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over my face, but I ignored it. I ignored it even as black spots started swimming in front of my eyes, ignored it as my legs shook weakly, ignored it as Marcone stabbed and slashed and hacked at the prone creature, side-stepped its gnashing teeth and the jets of fire it sent pouring from its mouth, and finally, just when I was about to tell Marcone to move, because I couldn't hold the spell any longer, Marcone plunged the sword through Ferrovax's back. I heard the sick squelch crunch of it, of him twisting the blade in deeper and deeper, saw blood splattering on his clothes and face, and my spell stopped. Ferrovax's plume of fire ended. Marcone jerked the sword free and jumped down, and oh, hell, he'd just killed a goddamn dragon. I don't know why I had to keep reminding myself that he wasn't Michael and I wasn't Charity and we weren't going to go off and have some kind of twisted, fairytale romance, but I did. I also wasn't sure why I kissed back when he ran over and slammed his lips against mine, but I did.


	5. Chapter 5

Marcone's POV

I kissed him like I'd never kissed anyone, forcing through the fear I'd had that he was dead or dying, the jealousy at seeing the fucking dragon draping the jewelry on him, the worry that he'd run into the fight and get himself killed, that I'd get myself killed before I could save him, and the result was too wet, had too much teeth, but I held him like he'd fade to mist if I didn't. What really amazed me was that he kissed me back, that he closed his pretty black eyes and draped his arms over my shoulders and his body seemingly melted so prettily in my arms, and hell. Hell, hell, hell. Love is fucking stupid. I pulled away and looked at him through lidded eyes, saw the gold that still hung on him, the duster that hardly hid the fact that he was bare assed naked, his own eyes a little dimmed, mouth red and slick and slightly open.

"Harry, god, you're alright. That damned thing is dead. My god," I sighed, and I still held him close. He patted my arm, and I saw Gard, bleeding profusely from several wounds, wave a hand and split the air again. She stumbled just the slightest bit at that, and Nate was by her side in an instant. That made me smile, as I realized that Harry wasn't acting like himself, was a little limp, a little slumped. I noticed suddenly just how much of his weight I was supporting when Snape's hand patted his shoulder, a little.

"Are you quite alright, Harry? That final spell of yours, I'm certain, took much from you." I glared at his hand, but didn't speak up, not wanting to make Harry angry with me so quickly.

"I'm alright. I've been drained deeper than this before. Mel, help me over to the Way, okay?" I did so easily, felt how light Harry's body was and wondered if he ever ate. He needed to eat. I figured I could maybe find out the kinds of things he liked; get them flown in or something, with that influence of mine. Maybe that would help convince him to come back home to Chicago, where he belonged, where I could keep him safe, where the monsters hiding in the dark couldn't jump out and take him away from me without a second thought. We stepped through the tear side by side, onto another pathway, and I was glad I wouldn't have to feel the cold I had coming in again, and especially glad that Harry, nearly naked, wouldn't have to feel it. "Huh. This is really advanced. Haven't ever seen a Way like this." Snape walked up, and started to talk even though I was glaring at him, trying to get across that he should shut the hell up now that he'd done all I needed him to do.

"It is not a Way in the traditional sense, I do not believe. We are not even in the Nevernever right now. From what I can tell, this is more a shortcut through space or time than anything, although I believe Ms. Gard can only open them between places where she has been before." Harry looked around and stumbled a little. I caught him with a hand around his waist, settling it at his hip, and his own hand tightened around my shoulder.

"Still seems like a neat trick. I'll have to ask her how it's done some time." Snape hummed, and we reached the end of the pathway, stepped back into Harry's bedroom to the sound of a bell ringing loudly throughout the castle.

"It seems we've been gone longer than we might have assumed," Snape said, sighing as he leaned against Harry's dresser. I almost thought I heard the skull there make a noise of discontent.

"Indeed," Gard began, "The day Harry was taken has gone, and a new day nearly ended. Time is strange on my paths, just as it is in the Nevernever. It is quite difficult to guess just how much time will pass, when you leave the mortal plane." Harry laughed, suddenly and pulled free from me to land on his bed. After a few seconds he was grabbing at his stomach, seeming almost hysterical, and Snape was preparing to retrieve a nurse when he finally stopped.

"I… I told the second class I had that I'd never fought a dragon before!" And then he laughed again. With sleepiness and adrenaline and collapsing worry warring inside me, I laughed too.

* * *

Hendricks' POV

I'm a little worried that the fucking wizard has turned my boss insane. He's always been a little off, yeah, but he's never started fucking laughing for no goddamn reason, like he was now, and Dresden was doing it first. I was a little worried, so I slapped him. His laughter stopped, and Dresden's died down to periodic snickers.

"Dick," he snarled at me, but still grinned, and I returned it, a little nervous. He sighed. "You know, Nate, you've told me a hundred fucking times how different I am, when I get older, but you've changed a hell of a lot too. When I met you, you never would've had the balls to slap me."

"Man, you've got no place to talk about balls," Dresden sighed out, his eyes closed as he sprawled out on the bed, parts of him that I'd never, ever wanted to see visible in sharp, shameless relief. "Stars, you took a holy sword from my apartment, which is warded all to hell, by the way, and ran into the Nevernever to kill a dragon when you had less than no idea on how to use the thing. I mean, Hell's Bells, you've got to have balls of iron that drag the ground when you walk. Compared to that shit, Hendricks would hardly need balls the size of golf balls to slap you." He was even making grabbing gestures as he explained this. I just… why is this my life, huh? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor, or an astronaut. There was also that one time I wanted to be a cop, but still, all that's beside the point. I never wanted to take care of my de-aged best friend while the wizard he had a crush on babbled on about the varying sizes of balls, and what sizes were necessary to perform certain acts. "Your balls are still smaller than Murphy's though, Mel." I could feel myself reaching for my gun, but to shoot who I wasn't sure, when Gard settled a hand on my shoulder and shook her head. I sighed, trying to get through all the misery I was suffering in that one noise, but she just smiled and snickered a little. The other wizard in the room, Snape I think, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"You all may come go to the great hall for dinner if you wish, however I will be requesting that Professor Dresden be allowed to eat in here this evening, so that he might have some time to relax and recover his magic. The remainder of his classes will simply be serving double potions for me today, and he can return to teaching in the morning." Dresden twirled a finger around through the air and giggled.

"I can… I can go to dinner, damn it! I'm a wizard, I don't need to be, Hell's Bells, what's the word? Coddled! I don't need to be coddled." He tried to sit up, flopped back down with a heavy puff of air, and was then asleep. Johnny stared, for a second, and was then at his side, holding his hand, and oh my god, I wanted to go home. Maybe I could try to be a doctor again. Wouldn't be all that hard to switch majors. Fuck, like I could leave my idiotic boss. He'd die in twenty minutes, if I wasn't around. Damn wizard wasn't going to become my responsibility, though. Gard could deal with him.

"Is he alright?" John asked, voice near frantic. Snape stepped forward to check, but Gard beat him there, her hand looking small and tan, though she was relatively pale, next to Dresden's skinny chest. She pressed hard enough to bruise, though, and I could see her handprint left behind when she stepped back over to me.

"He is fine, but his magic reserves are drained to dangerous levels. He needs to eat, and to sleep. It seems that gravity spell of his took more than he would have had us believe."

"But he's going to be okay?" John repeated again, and his hand went tight around Dresden's, the one he kept covered with a leather driving glove. I was kind of surprised that the dragon let him keep it, actually, same with that necklace he always has on, even though I couldn't see the chain for it underneath that gold thing. I had the vague thought that, as thin as that chain was, it was probably cutting him. I shook my head. No, dammit, no. I was not going to start… mothering that wizard. No. It wasn't my job. There was no 'mothering wizards' clause in my contract. There was that 'and any other duties' thing, but no. Mothering wizards was not something any sane man would ask a friend to do. Even if John hadn't been sane about Dresden in a long time. Dammit.

"Mel, you might want to take that collar thing he's got on off. He's got a necklace on underneath it. Chain might be cutting him." He nodded; apparently pleased to have anything at all to do that might help Dresden or make him more comfortable in any way, and rolled him over onto his stomach easily. I didn't want to know how much he'd been practicing that move, and I really didn't want to look at the back of that gold thing, because Christ, in what world were that many buckles and ties necessary? No one should wear a necklace of any sort that they couldn't get on and off by themselves.

"Think you can give me a hand with this thing, Nate? I got no idea how the hell this thing works." Of course he didn't, because that would make me happy, if he did. That would make me not have to deal with mostly naked wizards and fucking mothering instincts was only one wizard I was willing to look at naked, and she wasn't really even a wizard, she was a Valkyrie, but of course it had to be the boss' weird, overly noble crush-thing that got stripped in front of me on a regular basis. Someone, somewhere, hates me. I vote that it's the head of Monoc Securities, because that fucker has always acted like a dick to me. Gard always tells me I shouldn't piss him off, but I'm honestly not all that sure why. He's just a guy, right? I can handle him, if he ever comes after me. Whatever.

The necklace thing was a pain in the ass to take off, and I got my fingers tangled up in the ties more than once. Gard and John just snickered at me, and that other wizard probably would have too, if he hadn't left the room to order in food for us and, I assume, tell Dresden's new boss that he isn't dead yet. Dresden lives through more certain-death situations than any man should be allowed, and honestly, I'm not even sure how he managed it. He pisses something off with every word he says, whether what he's talking to could kill him with both hands tied behind its back and its eyes shut or not. Hell, I'm pretty sure Dresden's got enough skill that he could piss something off just because he's on this plane of existence and he's breathing. That's enough to piss me off, sometimes. I'd say he was part cat if he hadn't already lost all nine of his lives at least twice by now.

John and I finally get the necklace off, and I hate myself because I have to consciously hold back from attempting to do something about the places the chain had bitten into his skin, the red spots that had been rubbed raw. John plucks the earrings from his ears and I want to mess with those places too, wipe the blood clear, and why did I have to want to fix every single little injury I saw on anyone? Even my own guys laugh at me for it.

The door opened again, but instead of Snape coming back, like I'd figured, a tiny little… thing walked in, one large tray balanced on each of its skinny, bony arms. It scuttled in with its head down, dressed in what appeared to be a small potato sack, and had a long, thin nose, big eyes, and huge ears. Its feet were bare, too, and were long and thin. If I had to guess, it might've come up to Dresden's knees.

"Hello, Masters, Mistresses. Tinker is to be Master Dresden's personal house elf. Tinker has brought you all dinner," it said, almost too quiet to be heard, and its left foot shuffled a little. I stood and took the trays from it to put them on the desk, a little surprised at how heavy they were. I stared at it.

"Mel, wake Dresden up," I said, and he nodded, shaking the man's shoulder. He groaned, a little, and sat up, jacket falling off his shoulders and I really didn't need to see that fucking wizard naked dammit. Apparently some higher power out there thought that actually, yes, I most certainly did need to see that fucking wizard naked. I felt a sudden, irrational urge to shake my fist at the sky like something would actually happen beyond a rain of naked Harry Dresdens to punish me for my insolence.

"Huh? Whas happenin?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, "Am I 'bout to die 'gain?" Mel smiled, more gentle than I'd ever seen him, and his thumb stroked over Dresden's knuckle.

"Of course not, damn idiot. The food's here, and so is some weird looking thing that says it's yours." He blinked, and saw the little thing standing there, still staring at the ground.

"House elf? What's your name?" he asked, cocking his head a little, and looking down at it. It continued to stare at the ground.

"Tinker is Tinker. Tinker has only just come to the castle, to work for Master Dresden. Tinker hopes that he does not make Master Dresden unhappy." Dresden sighed, and thoughtlessly jerked his glove from his hand and tossed it to the thing. I didn't know whether to be more shocked by the expression on the house elf's face or the scarred, mangled flesh of his hand.

"Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden releases the house elf Tinker from his service, but states that Tinker may remain with Harry Dresden if he so desires. However, if Tinker wishes to go elsewhere, he may do that as well, without any prejudice from Harry Dresden or his companions." The elf blinked, and fingered the leather glove softly, looking so hopelessly confused that I wanted to hug it and no, dammit, no. I was not doing that with immortal things too. I fucking refused. That is a step too far. There is no being on this earth that could mother that much. But… that thing was pretty cute, and it seemed helpless, and- okay, good, Dresden was dealing with it. He'd gotten off the bed, coat thankfully back up on his shoulders and held closed with his non-burned hand, and he patted the elf gently on the shoulder. John looked ready to tear something's head off.

"M-Master Dresden?" it asked, still quiet. Dresden snickered.

"I'm not your Master. I've been around house elves before, you know, met a lot of them. Stars and Stones, you guys are too fucking strong to serve anyone. I've seen the kind of stunts house elves can pull." I think the little thing actually blushed.

"Only in service to our Masters will house elves like Tinker show their strength." Dresden sighed.

"Look, I just said you can continue to serve me if you want, just don't do it because you feel like you have to. I freed you. If you want to stay, that's all fine and dandy, I could probably use the help, but if you want to go, then go." The elf twined its fingers together and pulled hard until they popped, but Dresden put a gentle hand on top of them, stopping the movement. The elf blinked those impossibly wide eyes, and actually smiled.

"Tinker would like to serve Master Dresden." Dresden actually smirked, which I didn't think he was capable of.

"Then Tinker will call me Harry, and it won't be serving. We'll be friends, alright?" That prompted another round of blinking rapidly from the little house elf.

"Friends? Tinker is Master Harry's friend?"

"Yeah, just drop the Master. Call me Harry." It smiled.

"Harry." And then it fluttered out of the room, glove clutched tight in its hand. Harry sighed, and stared down mournfully at his bare hand. He stood up straight again nonetheless, and snatched up a covered plate from one of the trays. I took another, passed one to Gard, and then handed the last to John. He resumed his vigil beside Dresden's bed, while Gard and I each took one of the soft, plush chairs that sat against one wall. We were quiet, for a few minutes, until a voice I didn't recognize sounded loudly from the desk.

"Least you didn't Name that new best friend of yours," the voice said, and then laughed. Dresden sighed.

"Damn it, Bob, I've told you a hundred times to be quiet when we're not alone and I haven't okayed you speaking." Another laugh, and I realized it was coming from the skull, which now had bright orange lights glittering in its eye sockets.

"Never ordered me not to, boss, so I can do what I feel like." Dresden snickered and shoved a chunk of something into his mouth, while Gard stared curiously at the skull.

"A spirit, Mr. Dresden?" she asked quietly, and Dresden nodded.

"Yeah, Spirit of Air and Intellect, but he's harmless."

"Bound to the skull?"

"And the wizard who holds it, yeah." The skull, Bob, wolf whistled.

"Hey, boss, think you can give me to her instead? Bet she's a lot more fun than you!" I glared at it.

"Back off." It laughed again, and actually grinned at me.

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't know she was taken, not human, can't be blamed for not understanding your silly mating rituals, yadda yadda yadda."

"Bob, you know more than me about silly human mating rituals. Don't flirt with people who are taken," Dresden grunted, and John smiled stupidly at him, somehow having managed to grab his burned hand. I assumed he was allowing it because it was so nerve dead he couldn't feel it. I was proven right when the skull pointed out that, hey, he guessed he couldn't flirt with Dresden anymore either, since he apparently had a new young buck and Dresden glanced down at his hand and immediately jerked it away. John actually fucking pouted.

"Harry," he said, "You kissed me back the last time. You're obviously interested."

"I was tired, fuck off, Mel." The skull looked incredulous.

"Harry, who is that guy, anyway?"

"Mel, formerly known as John Marcone, Chicago Kingpin." The skull laughed again, and I got the feeling that he did that a lot just to prove he could without a throat or lungs or anything like that.

"Hey, man! That means I've broken into your house before! A lot!" Gard continued to stare at him.

"The spirit from the wards. I had thought you would have died, having taken a beating like you did."

"Came close, lady. You got me good, but hey, I knew what to expect when I came back. Got through easy." Gard laughed, loud and cutting and prettier than most things.

"Mr. Dresden, where did you ever find such a thing as him?" The skull and the wizard both closed off.

"Story for another time. Bob, is there anything you needed, when you woke up?" It nodded, bouncing up and down a little.

"Yeah, there was. I wanted to tell you to check that EBay thing. This far away, the ones that could have afforded you then are going to be the ones still able to come after you." Dresden sighed.

"I found that much out already, Bob. Ferrovax came for me."

"Of course he did. I don't know why I ever expect less of you. You've already had both the fairy queens breathing down your neck, you want dragons too, to complete your set of really dangerous things that you don't want to be your enemies but are and forever will be anyway because you're really stupid?"

"Mel killed the dragon, and you might be part of Mab's thing with me. Aurora is my fault, though. I take full credit for that one," Dresden said, his tongue stuck out for a second before he shoveled in more food.

"What did he kill it with, good looks? No way in hell a vanilla mortal can go up against a dragon like Ferrovax and win. And unless you've said something to her, Mab shouldn't even know you have me." Gard continued to stare, and I wondered what about the perverted talking skull she found so interesting. And now I'm jealous of a perverted talking skull. I'm going to be as bad as John himself, soon.

"It is the Queen of Air and Darkness that so bound you, then?"

"Yeah, a long time ago, sometime when man first appeared. She made a gift of me, to the first user of magic." Gard actually snickered.

"And what is it that you did to so anger her, spirit?"

"There's an outside possibility that I knocked up a virgin she was planning on giving to some Sidhe lord."

"And why have you not yet broken free? It seems Mr. Dresden has given you a Name. With a binding such as this, that should have been sufficient for you to break it yourself." The eyelights flickered out for a second, and I realized it was blinking.

"Oh, yeah. I could've broken out and killed that idiot years ago, but I haven't felt like it, you know? Wouldn't seem sporting, to take advantage of the poor moron that way. Besides, I get out, Mab will just find me again, and I'll lose the power that Name gives me as soon as people stop using it to refer to me anyway, so I figure if he's dead, I lose my one chance anyway. May as well bide my time and keep him around." John had snuck his hand back around Dresden's nerve dead one, damn him. He was the only person I knew of that would enjoy the fact that someone's hand looked like that just so they could hold it without the other person noticing. Dresden finished his food and was about to stand, but I rushed over to grab the plate before he could, so he wouldn't realize that hey, something was preventing him from standing up. I didn't particularly want my boss to get forzare'd across the room. Dresden did spare me a suspicious look, but he fell asleep not five minutes later. "Burned out again?" Bob the skull questioned suddenly, and John was the one who nodded.

"Yeah, that's what everybody's saying. He did some kind of gravity thing, and he got this way." Bob sighed.

"I've never had a master quite this fucking suicidal. The idiot's going to end up killing himself." John just stared, and his fingers moved softly over the burned flesh.

"This got something to do with that?" he asked, gesturing at the skin with his free hand. I'm damn sure that skull was shrugging, somehow.

"His story, not mine." The room fell silent, after that, no noise beyond breathing, and eventually, we all started to drop into sleep. Surprisingly enough, it was Gard first. I heard her quiet snores and smiled as they started lulling me into my own sleep. Just before I completely dropped off, though, I heard Dresden wake up and speak.

"Mel, if you're that fucking determined to sleep next to me, then get on the damn bed. I won't bite."

"Not even if I ask nice?" John whispered, and I heard the shifting of blankets as he joined Dresden on the bed. My boss and his wizardly love. Why couldn't I have a normal job, just for a day?

* * *

Harry's POV

Waking up next to Marcone wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I was hoping it would be. He hadn't crowded the bed at all, he didn't snore, he didn't hog the blankets… it honestly pissed me off. The only thing even remotely out of bounds he'd done was put his arm over my hips, and hey, I'd woken up with my head on his shoulder (I had immediately moved and had a small heart attack, but I had been there, however brief a time it was), so I couldn't really complain about that without being a hypocrite. I stumbled up, and looked over to my dresser to see that there was a new teaching robe there, and a leather glove. I smiled, shrugged off my duster, which had apparently been the only thing I'd slept in, tossed on a t-shirt and the jeans, pulled on the robe and the glove, and put the duster back on over it all. The castle was really cold, okay? That was not my fault. I shook Marcone awake, and then moved to do the same to Hendricks and Gard, even though Gard grabbed me by the throat and I actually to apologize to her because I apparently snuck up on her. For once I decided to be the bigger person and just did it, out of the purity and goodness in my heart and certainly not because it was time for breakfast and my stomach was rumbling.

Anyway, once we got to breakfast, the teacher's table had grown substantially longer, but somehow (oh ha fucking ha, Dumbledore), there was still one seat too few, and, once again, I was forced to sit on Marcone's lap. He at least didn't get a hard on this time, though, so I could at least be thankful for that. He did keep trying to feed me, though, and was really insistent that I lick his fingers, by which I mean he forced them into my mouth and left them there until I did just that. I heard Hendricks choking on something beside me, and Gard smacked his back. A piece of something flew out of his mouth and landed in a Slytherin girl's hair. She shrieked, and all of the females that had developed crushes on Hendricks upon seeing him shirtless the other day were suddenly crushed and disgusted. I realized suddenly that I still hadn't checked the damn EBay sheet, and hoped that I wouldn't get kidnapped again. Twice was a little much for one week, even for me.

"Come on, sweetheart, you need to eat more," Marcone said quietly, his hand settled on my stomach.

"I eat what I want. And don't complain to me, because you haven't even touched your plate." He quirked up an eyebrow and opened his mouth, looking at me expectantly. "Hell's Bells, Mel, I'm not going to feed you. You're a grown man, do it yourself." He smirked.

"Don't wanna, dollface."

"Too bad." He laughed, and a bell sounded again, so I jumped off of his lap, or tried to, but his hand held me there tightly. "Mel, I've got class. Let me up." He shook his head, and even though I couldn't see it, I felt some of his hair, which was longer than it would be when he got older, brush back and forth over my cheek.

"You're letting me go with you again today, aren't you? In case something else happens." I sighed.

"Well, I'm going to guess you're not going to let me up if I say no, and I don't exactly want to magic you when you're this close, so yeah, I guess so. But if you attack one of my students again, I'm putting that binding on you and leaving it for the rest of the week." He laughed, a little, and nodded, letting me stand up. I rushed down to my classroom, and managed to make it there five minutes before the last student. I put Marcone at my desk again, and grinned at the kids. They stared at me like I was some sort of rare animal.

"Professor Dresden!" a few actually gasped, and I sighed.

"I guess I probably should have said this on the first day, but you guys shouldn't be all that surprised when stuff like that happens to me. I've got terrible luck, you know? And a lot of things don't like me all that much."

"I just can't imagine why," I heard a girl whisper to one of her friends, though I politely ignored it. Honestly, I didn't really expect that all the students would like me.

"Oh, I know! It's just so surprising that people would dislike the Council's incompetent fool," a boy said softly. Billius suddenly slapped them both, and I allowed myself a tiny smile. He was a good kid.

"Anyhow, did you guys do anything yesterday, when I was gone?"

"Professor Snape said he had your lesson plans, and did what was written next for us," a Gryffindor boy said quietly.

"Which was? Come on, guys, my memory sucks."

"Basic veils. We practiced them on birds."

"Cool, were you guys all able to do that?" The boy Billius had slapped spoke up.

"Billius couldn't. He said he couldn't understand how Professor Snape explained it." Billius blushed.

"Anyone else? Don't be shy, I don't mind. I'm not the best at veils either. They're tough stuff, for some people. Delicate work. People have different skills, you know? I'm a powerhouse, so I'm good at the 'blow down the doors, kick butt, and take names' sort of magic. Other people are better at the precise stuff, like an old friend of mine." Two other students raised their hands.

"Okay, you three come on up. I'll try and help you guys out. The rest of you, pair up and try to cast veils on each other. At this point, you should try and hold it up for about five minutes or so. The more you practice it, the longer you should be able to keep it up, and some of you will be able to do it longer already, but if you can't, don't get discouraged. Magic takes time." The three kids stepped up to me, all looking embarrassed, but I just smiled at them again. "Okay, Billius, I remember your name. What about you two?"

"Tessa," said one of them.

"Jeremiah," said the other. I nodded.

"Awesome. So, to start with, I think you guys should see if you can get a veil up on a smaller, stationary object, like… Mel, hand me that paperclip there." He did so, sparing a glance at the three kids.

"I thought his name was John?" Billius said quietly. I shook my head.

"It's the name he uses when he gets older, but it's not his real name." Marcone blinked.

"This is the kid that turned me eighteen again?" I nodded, and Billius cowered. Marcone laughed. "I ain't pissed off, kid, don't worry about it. I kinda like it this way, actually. Almost wish I could stay." I rolled my eyes.

"The world doesn't need to suffer through you growing up again." I held the paperclip in my hand in front of the three kids. "Alright, what language do you guys work in? And if any of you say Latin, I might have to cry." Tessa blushed.

"That's what I use. Or, I like the language. None of our other classes give us a language option. We just use whatever spell we're given." I grinned.

"You're better than me then, kid. I use fake Latin, for mine. If you can actually speak it, then you have my admiration for the rest of your life." She stared.

"But the White Council… aren't the meetings done in Latin?"

"Yeah. Thus the reason why I need my old Master there, to translate for me. I've tried to speak in those things before and just ended up pissing someone off and embarrassing myself. And also having a sword put on my neck, but that's common enough that it doesn't surprise me much anymore. And what language do you two use?"

"Welsh," Billius said.

"It's Latin for me too," Jeremiah murmured.

"Alright. Now, you guys should probably keep it simple, right? Like hide, or disappear."

"Abscondere, then," Jeremiah said, and Tessa nodded.

"Diflannu," Billius mumbled.

"Good, you've got your words, and you've got your will, now you've just got to see it. When I do veils, I always imagine a blanket getting thrown over something, kind of like what you do when you're a kid and you want to hide from your parents. If the blanket is there, no one can see it, but if I take the blanket off, it's there again. Evanesc," I muttered, and waved my hand a little. The paperclip vanished. "Manifesto." It popped back into sight. "Now you guys try. Who wants to go first?" Tessa stepped forward, closed her eyes, and held her hand over mine.

"Abscondere." I felt a flicker of magic, but the clip stayed visible. She tried again, and I got the same flicker.

"You're not pumping enough juice into it." She opened her eyes, and stared up at me.

"Huh?"

"You need to force through more will. What you're giving isn't enough for what you want to happen. I can feel how much you're putting out, and it isn't even enough to make a speck of sand disappear."

"But it's dangerous, to use too much!"

"And using too little won't get you any results. You've got to find a comfortable balance for yourself. Keep attempting it, but put in a little more will each time, until you get what you want. Eventually, you'll be able to judge how much you need instinctually, but to start out, you've got to practice it. Everything about magic is practice."

"But the shields only took a day, and no one else seems to be having this problem," she whispered, "Maybe I just don't have enough. I am muggle-born." I sighed.

"This bloodline stuff is pissing me off. I told you all the first day that I was what you all call a half-blood. My father didn't have magic. And besides, if you ask me, kids with magic born from non-magic parents are probably stronger." She stared at me. "If you get it, and your parents don't have it, it means it was latent in your mother's bloodline, probably had someone in the family hide their magic, lock it up until they couldn't use it. For it to reemerge in a child means it's gotten powered up big time by something. I've always figured that something was the kid." She grinned happily, suddenly, and Mel sneered.

"Don't get any ideas with him, honey. He's mine." I smacked his arm with the hand not holding the paperclip.

"Shut up, Mel. Don't interrupt my class. Now, try again, Tessa." She did, over and over, funneling in more power each time, until the paperclip flickered out of existence. I smiled softly.

"Good job! Now, about how many paperclips do you think I would be?" She blinked.

"A million or more, probably."

"Alright. Using that, try to make me disappear." She nodded, and mumbled her spell again. I felt myself vanish. "Great! Manifesto," I said, and reappeared. "You can go practice with the other kids now. See if one of them will move around, so you can try and cast a moving veil like you would've done with the birds." She nodded, and left the front of the room. "Who's next?" Jeremiah moved forward, and cast his spell easily. The paperclip was gone, and I looked at him curiously.

"I just can't do moving objects," he said, and I nodded.

"It's an issue of focus, then. To veil moving objects, you need perfect concentration." I unbent the paperclip, and started swaying it. "Before you can veil something movement, you need to be able to predict where it's going to go. With this paperclip, that's easy. It'll just keep swaying back and forth like this. Same if you're veiling yourself. You know where you're going to go, what you're going to do, so it's easy to keep the veil up. It's also pretty easy if you're veiling a friend, since you would know them well, and they'd likely be performing the same tasks as you. It's part of the reason why I don't like using birds. You're probably not ever going to need to veil something you can't predict easily, like a bird. Now, concentrate on where the veil is, and where it will need to be. The blanket is shifting, okay?" He nodded, and cast his spell again. The paperclip vanished. I nodded. "Good! Go ahead and practice with the others, and keep working on predicting movements. If Tessa needs help with moving veils, tell her how to do it."

"Of course. Thank you, Professor Dresden." I smiled.

"No problem. If you need anything else, just tell me." He nodded, and I had Billius step up.

"Diflannu," he said, wand out, back stiff, and the paperclip disappeared.

"Is your problem with moving objects too?" I asked, shifting it in my grip to start swaying it. He shook his head.

"No. I just… Professor Snape didn't explain it very well, and he frightens me." I laughed, a little.

"Sevy's a nice guy, when you get used to him, but I guess I can understand that. Well, if you get it now, then run along and practice. I'm giving you all about five more minutes to do that, then we're moving on to how to make yourself undetectable when you're veiled." He nodded, and moved over to the other kids. I smiled as I watched them work, casting veil after veil, some clumsy, some skilled. I had to smile, because they were my students, even if at least two of them had apparently decided to go well on their way to hating my guts.

"He admires you, Harry," Marcone said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"That last kid, the one that made me this way. He admires you, a lot. It wasn't a matter of he couldn't do it, yesterday. He just didn't want to without you around. That's why he hit those other two kids, too, even though they're in the same color." I shrugged.

"He's a decent enough kid. Hey, do you know of anything I could use to help them strengthen their shields? Something solid, but something that won't hurt them. The shields they were producing before were good for basics, but they're not strong enough to defend against much of anything." He shrugged.

"Use whatever your teacher used on you." I laughed, quietly.

"I'm not going to throw baseballs at them." He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, I raised a hand and brought the class back to attention. "Alright, kids. I want to talk to you about something, before class ends. Veils will make you undetectable to the naked eye, but people have other senses that could still pick you out, even if your veil is perfect. You've got to practice your breathing, learn to keep it silent, and if you're walking around, you may want to be barefooted, unless you're lighter on your feet than I am. Beyond that, class dismissed or whatever. See you all later." The bell rang just as I finished, and the students left. I went back to my room with Mel, and found Snape waiting for me.

"Professor Dresden."

"I told you to call me Harry. What is it you want?" He sighed and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"Harry, then. You will be leading detention this evening. It will begin after your evening classes. You may have the student serving do whatever you see fit. I do, however, apologize that you must handle this so soon after your ordeal, but my detention class was full, and you are the only other teacher free this evening, so I'm afraid you must deal with the child." I stared for a second, then shrugged.

"Fine with me." He nodded, and I, for the rest of the day, taught and ate and spoke with Gard and Hendricks and Marcone and Bob, until it was time to go for the detention. Marcone, of course, insisted on going with me.

* * *

When I got into the classroom, the kid was already there, sitting in a seat and staring out the window. He wore yellow, and had dark hair and pale eyes. He was a little hunched over, too, and was glaring harshly at something. Of course. I put on a smile, and entered the room.

"Hey there," I said. He turned his glare to me.

"Don't act like you're any happier to be here than me. Christ, you've still got that muggle? What is he, a pet?" I laughed, and patted Marcone's shoulder.

"In so many words. He's sort of a friend of mine, who came to try to get me to go back to where I lived before. One of the other students accidentally turned him into an eighteen year old again though, so I've got to make sure he doesn't get in trouble." The kid quirked an eyebrow and leaned back in the chair.

"How can you keep him out of trouble? You're the one that got kidnapped by a dragon." I grinned.

"True enough, but I'm the only one here who knows him, beyond two of his employees, and he only remembers one of them. Anyway, what do you want to do, kid?" He stared, and then spoke slowly, like he was talking to an infant.

"This is detention. I'm the student. You're the teacher. You're supposed to tell me what to do. You know, write lines, clean the classroom, whatever."

"That's not going to accomplish anything though, is it?"

"What?"

"You're not a first year, so whatever got you in here wasn't some misinformed accident, and this early in the year… you obviously purposefully did something you knew was against the rules and got landed here. You also probably don't give a damn, and are just planning to half-ass whatever I tell you to do. Isn't that right?" He scoffed.

"Like you really care." Yeah, I was right.

"I do, you're my student, in one way or another." He shook his head.

"No, I'm not. I'm not allowed in Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms anymore. I cursed some guy with something I learned in there."

"Still, you go to my school, so you're my student. What could I do for you that would help you out?" Marcone rolled his eyes.

"Not shit, honey. He's a punk kid. Punk kids don't care what their teachers say. I never did." I looked over at him, and shoved him.

"Be quiet, Mel. I was a punk kid too, and I had teachers that gave a damn and helped me out. I'm trying to do the same." The kid shook his head and continued to stare out the window.

"The muggle is right. I don't care, and I'm not going to start caring just because you say a few pretty words. You asked what I wanted to do. I want to sit here until I can leave." I shrugged.

"Fine with me, kid. Of course, since you got kicked out of Defense Against the Dark Arts, I thought you might want me to show you a few things, but hey, I can work on lesson plans for an hour or so just as easily." He looked up at me as I went to my desk, Marcone trailing along behind me, seeming intrigued.

"Why would you do that?" I smiled.

"Why would you curse a boy?" He almost seemed to pout.

"He was being a bloody prick. He kicked my ass every damn day. I was tired of it. So I cursed him. It's not like he died or anything, he was just purple for a while, and his arm might've been broken. He's fine now. Perfectly normal seventh year. He just doesn't hit me anymore." I couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Answer for an answer. I want to help you out because we're apparently cut from the same cloth. I broke a fifth grader's nose when I was in third grade, because he was bullying me and a few other kids. I was a hero, until I got taken out of that school. So, what's your name, kid? And what year are you in?"

"Lawrence. And I'm a fifth year."

"Hufflepuff, right?" He nodded.

"I'm finally getting these house colors straight! So, what was the last thing you learned?"

"Advanced Thaumaturgy. They said we were going to start Evocation next." I nodded.

"Quick and dirty magic it is, then." He laughed, a little, and pulled a wand from his sleeve.

"Never heard it called that before."

"But that's exactly what it is! You call it up fast, it makes a mess. Quick and dirty. What's your element?"

"Fire." I grinned at him, and Marcone looked a little upset, his arms crossed.

"Same cloth, same cloth. Mel, can you pull the dummies out of the closet over there for me?" He nodded, and did so, pulling them in front of me and going back to my desk. I smiled my thanks to him, and he looked a little less angry. "Alright, I'll give you a display of some fire magic first. Fuego!" A puff of flame escaped my blasting rod, and the dummies flamed up, then went out. "Pyrofuego!" Now out came blue flame, thick and almost solid. It burned the dummy for longer, and I tucked the blasting rod away. The kid stared at me.

"You'll show me how to do that?"

"With time, yeah, but you've got to start smaller. You can start with the first fire spell I learned. Flickum bicus," I said, and snapped a finger. One of the candles in the room flared up.

"What kind of spell is that?" he laughed. I grinned.

"Like I said, it was the first combat type spell I learned, when my first Master was testing my abilities." He grinned, and pulled out a wand.

"Guess you scored high on the quick and dirty then?" I shook my head.

"Nope. I'm actually pretty average at that. Thaumaturgy, the as above so below sort of magic, is my specialty. Bet you can't guess where I got that spell name." He rolled his eyes.

"Flick your Bic." Marcone stared and glared, crossing his arms and looking away.

"I could've guessed that," he mumbled, and I looked over at him, my eyebrows up.

"Something wrong, Mel?" He looked up, his teeth clenched.

"Yeah. What the hell are you doing, bothering with that kid?" I was a little confused, a little nervous that he'd go insane and attack Lawrence or something, and moved over to him.

"Try that spell on the unlit candles in here." He did so as I put my hand on Marcone's shoulder. "Mel, you like kids. What's with you?"

"I don't like him. Just give him lines or something, like he suggested."

"He needs to learn."

"Not from you." Marcone shifted, and stared up at me, looking for all the world like a neglected child, and damn if it didn't affect me.

"Hell's Bells. Are you jealous again or something? Because if you are, there's no need for it. For one, we're not together, and you're not going to be interested in me anymore when you get older anyway. For two, he's sixteen. That's kind of sick. For three… well, do I even need a third reason?" He snarled, grabbed me, and jerked me down to his level, his eyes even with mine, and then kissed me again, his hands quickly moving to grab at my ass. Lawrence looked up from his casting, shocked, and I squirmed around. Marcone just held me tighter, pulled me closer, and slipped his tongue into my gasping mouth. I jerked and writhed, and finally pulled loose. He stared at me, eyes blazing, looking painfully strong and, dare I say it, handsome. "Damn it, Mel! Why the hell do you have to keep doing that?" Lawrence came over slowly, looking a little frightened. "Get the hell back to the goddamn room!" He glared, and grabbed my arm.

"No. I won't. I've done what you asked me this whole fucking time. I saved your goddamn life. I love you, you motherfucking idiot. I don't know why I do. You piss me off like no one else. You sure as hell ain't the hottest piece I could pick up. You're a weird motherfucker and you've obviously got shit going on, but damn it, I don't… damn it! All that shit, and I love you." I stared, because his eyes were wet again, but with tears shed rather than tears unshed. Twin trails were running down his face, and I realized suddenly that he was one of those lucky assholes that could cry without getting all red and blotchy, not like me.

"Lawrence, come back here tomorrow, alright? Same time. I'll help you then, okay?" He nodded, rapid and maybe scared, then ran off. Marcone kept crying eyes fixed on me. I couldn't help but wipe them clear. "You don't look like yourself when you cry."

"Don't talk to me like a fucking woman," he hissed. I sighed.

"I'm not trying to. I don't know what's wrong with you." His hand tightened around my arm.

"You don't know? You don't fucking know? You're what's wrong with me. I'm insane, thanks to you. I had some one night stands, at this age, but I don't even remember their faces. I never loved anyone, except for Nate and my mom, and they're… that's a different kind of love. Your face is the one I see when I close my eyes. You laughing, you screaming, you fighting. That fire in your eyes when you get pissed off. That little smirk you get when you're about to say something stupid that'll probably get you killed. I remember a few things, about you, about things you've done when I get older. You're the only thing. I remember that you fight harder to save the lives of other people than your own. I remember that we've worked together. I remember… a girl, and you let me try to help her, even at risk to yourself. You're so… damn it, Harry; you're so fucking you that I have to love you. I want to take care of you. I want to learn about the things that make you hurt, and tell you what makes me hurt."

"Mel… I can't say anything to that, alright? I've spent so much time distrusting you, I don't know if I can suddenly turn all that on my head. I don't hate you; I've told you that before. I'm just not sure I like you. I think… you should go back to the room for tonight."

"You kissed me back. You can say whatever the hell you want, sweetie, but you kissed me back, and I ain't falling for that 'tired' shit. He lunged up, making as it to kiss me again, and I braced myself for it, but instead he just pecked my cheek, whipped around, and left the room. I followed after him about an hour later, and found him on the floor beside my bed, Hendricks and Gard sleeping in the chairs. He looked cold. I cursed myself, heaved him onto the bed (thank god he's a heavy sleeper), changed into a pair of flannel pajamas, and got in beside him.


	6. Chapter 6

When I woke up the next morning, Tinker was shaking me gently, his small, bony hand gripping my shoulder. I groaned, softly, and I heard his quiet laugh.

"Harry Dresden must awaken. Tinker has brought a letter for him." I sat up slowly, my back protesting with a series of pops, and saw that yes, Tinker had a letter in his free hand, one written on parchment rather than paper, folded and sealed with green wax. I took it carefully, and saw a snake insignia stamped into the wax. So it was from a Slytherin, I supposed, but who I had no idea. To be honest, all I really knew was that it wasn't from Snape, because anything he needed to tell me, he wouldn't waste time with letters.

"Uh, thanks. Do you know what time it is, Tinker?"

"Tinker thinks that it is six in the morning! One hour before the first meal, so that Harry may have time to read his letter, dress, and awaken his companions!" I smiled.

"Thanks. Do you know who this was from?" He shook his head, ears flopping slightly. The sight was pretty cute, and, honestly, belied the strength I knew house elves possessed. The magic they held, when they chose to use it, was generally of equal strength to or stronger than that of most human practitioners of the Art. Hell, Tinker could probably blow me right across the room, if he wanted, but the creature's had a strange habit of wanting to serve, of submissiveness, that had made them prime targets, and a dislike of fighting had proved almost fatal to them. I tore the letter open, and wax crumbled onto the sheets. Tinker swept them away as I opened the letter.

"Tinker does not, Harry. Tinker found it outside his quarters, with a smaller note pinned to it, requesting that Tinker give it to Harry."

"Alright. You can stay or go."

"Tinker must go, for he must help prepare breakfast."

"See you later then, and thanks again." Tinker nodded, and flitted out of the room. I noticed suddenly that he was wearing my glove, even though it hung limply, far too large on his hand. Next time I saw him, I'd ask if he wanted me to make it into a necklace or something for him. I looked down at the letter and read it to myself.

Dear Harry Dresden,

You're an amazing man, really. Powerful, funny, intelligent. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I cannot write much, not yet, not here, as I'm in my dormitory, and I'd hate to think of what the others would do, if they saw this. Were the sorting hat placed atop your head, I fear it would state that you're a Hufflepuff through and through, or perhaps a Gryffindor, for you seem to me to be brave to a fault. I assume now that you're quite certain I am a Slytherin student, because of the stamp and those prejudices, and perhaps you are right, but perhaps you are not.

I'd like to confess all of this to you myself, Professor, but I can't, not with this fear of rejection that is almost certain. I'm far too young, and I realize this, but I need you to know, to recognize my feelings. Perhaps you'll wait for me. We're both wizards, we've plenty of time, yes? Far more than you'd have with that foolish muggle of yours. He doesn't deserve you anyway.

Signed,

Your Loyal Admirer

I stared at the letter, written in neat, flowing script I could never accomplish with a quill pen, and tried to recall if I recognized it, but I knew I wouldn't. I hadn't assigned any papers yet, so I'd never seen the handwriting of any of my students. I couldn't even tell if the damn thing was written by a male or a female, though whoever it was apparently thought I was with Marcone. The man himself grunted, and woke up slowly.

He caught sight of the letter in my hand, and I saw his eyes skim over it quickly. I expected him to freak out, maybe to tear it up and spread wax everywhere, but he just looked away, calm and cool and exactly like the him I knew. The frozen look was a little unnerving, when it resided in eyes like a forest instead of eyes like old money. He stood up, not even touching me, and I realized I hadn't woken up with his arm over me today. He dressed calmly, pulling himself into one of the suits Gard had brought with her, even if it was a touch too large, and looked away respectfully when I stood up and dressed. I was admittedly confused. He'd been giving me shit for days, now nothing? It didn't seem like him. Even as an adult, he had a stubborn streak a mile wide, just like me, and wasn't known for giving up much of anything. I tried to ignore how he'd given up trying to recruit me, and how that, along with this situation now, sent an ache of pain through my chest. It felt like something was just trying to remind me that love never worked out too great for me, that people who claimed to love me had a nasty little habit of giving up on me, of leaving me. I'd told him I wasn't interested, though. It only made sense that he'd give up. Any sane, rational person gives up on things like that if they're directly rejected. It shouldn't be bothering me.

"You okay, Mel?" I asked, quiet and no, no I was not upset that he'd apparently lost interest. I wasn't interested in him, so he shouldn't be interested in me, because I didn't want to hurt him that way. He quirked up an eyebrow and straightened his suit.

"Perfectly fine. Is there any reason why I would not be?" And there John was again. I'd known he couldn't be far from the surface, really. He was too much of a control freak to let his younger self have all the power, no matter the magic. He was even doing that thing where he refused to use contractions to make himself seem smarter than anyone else in the room.

"You're not acting like Mel, you're acting like John." His lips quirked up in a mirthless little smile.

"I am acting like myself. John is the same as Mel, right? We are the same person, just in different times of life." I didn't have much of a choice but to let the subject go as I woke Hendricks and Gard up and they dressed. The bell sounded, and we went down for breakfast. There were enough seats today, and no, shut up, that didn't disappoint me. I went up to my chair by Snape, but instead of there being food on my plate, there was another letter, this one stamped in yellow with a badger. I tore it open, curious, as Snape sat down on his seat beside me. Marcone chose not to sit by me, and Hendricks took the seat instead. He looked a little upset that he couldn't sit by Gard, and I wondered if there actually was a relationship there, or if Hendricks just had a crush on her. Snape glanced at my letter curiously as the students, the other teachers, and my guests chatted. None of them seemed interested in me, or what was in my hand. I'd hoped I could catch whoever sent it that way, but hey, since when am I that lucky?

"And what is that, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"A letter. Apparently one of the students has a crush or something on me. I got one this morning too, Tinker delivered it." He hummed, nodded a little, and plucked the letter out of my hand before I could even read it.

"And your muggle is tolerating this? I'd have thought he'd be up in arms about it, searching the school with a fine toothed comb, demanding handwriting samples, all of that foolishness."

"He's finally understood that I'm not interested, and that even if I was, his older self wouldn't be. Do you recognize that handwriting?" He shook his head.

"I receive countless reports almost daily. I can't be bothered to memorize the handwriting of every student." Too good to be true.

"Figured as much. Think I can have that back now?" He placed it back in my hand as food appeared on my plate. I slid my chair back a little, and read over the new letter.

Dear Professor Dresden,

Do you think I could start calling you Harry? That name is sort of legendary, in this world, since the winner of the war, the Chosen One, was named Harry. I think it fits you. You've saved a lot of people, haven't you? Your friends, I'm sure, at least once. You seem to care a lot about people you know. I guess you've seen why it'll be pretty tough for you to guess my house, huh? I can get the stamps for the other houses really easily. I wonder if you'll figure out who I am, when you assign an essay to us. You're a smart man, so you might figure it out even without that. An essay is going to be your next step though, isn't it? Maybe I'll change my handwriting, or get a friend to rewrite mine. They all know I'm doing this, so they won't ask why I need them to.

I haven't ever told you why I'm interested in you, have I? It's not just your looks, even though you are pretty attractive. You've got nice eyes. It's more your strength, I think, that makes me like you so much, your kindness. All the other teachers are different from you. We came into class on your first day, and you asked us our names, who we were, and wanted us to learn about you. We've got other teachers here, that are half-blood or less, but none of them publicly admit it, not really. They're ashamed of it. You come in, though, and tell us all so easily, like it doesn't matter. You see us as people, not just students. You want us to use magic our own way, not just with preconceived spells and motions.

Not everyone is happy about the school cutting ties with the White Council. My parents certainly aren't. They told me about you, before I left, about how you were dangerous, a warlock, like Lord Voldemort was. They said you would kill us all if given the means and a chance. I know they were lying, now. I know you're a good person. I know that if the Council distrusts someone as great as you, they couldn't be all that smart, so I'm siding with you, and the split from the Council. Well, I've got to stop writing now, but you'll be finding these letters all day. I've just got to let you know about all this somehow, since I can't tell you personally.

Signed,

Your Trusting Admirer

"Hey, Sev?" He glanced over at me.

"How easy would it be for a student to get a stamp from a house that wasn't theirs?"

"Not very, I would think. Stamps such as the one used on that letter are kept in the dormitories, and no one has the password to any dormitory that they don't belong in, unless a student gave it to them, or they snuck in after another student. Why do you ask?" I shrugged.

"The first letter had a stamp from Slytherin on it." He nodded.

"Then this student is either quite talented at thieving or quite talented at making friends." I grunted, quietly, and stuffed the letter into a duster pocket, one of the two big outer ones where I kept mundane things. I then proceeded to start shoveling food into my face and give the best answers I could to Snape, who was speaking quietly about things he'd found in my notebook, almost like he was trying to distract me from something. I couldn't imagine what from, but I was sort of wondering why in the world I kept glancing over at Marcone, or the weird, irrational wish I had that I'd catch him looking back. I didn't spare more than a speck of a thought on the idea that maybe I was saddened by the rejection, by him giving up on me so easily, even though it made perfect sense that he would, because what I'd said was as good as a concrete no, wasn't it? That's what women had usually meant with me, when they asked for time to think about something. I shook my head, and went to my first lesson. Marcone didn't come with me.

* * *

Classes went normally, although a third year girl did get sick during the class I had after lunch, and I ended up having to carry her down to the nurse, Madame Pomfrey. Apparently she'd been in the dueling club, and a boy she'd beaten had been pissed and somehow managed to spike her lunch with some weird candy called puking pastilles. Madame Pomfrey said they were made by the Weasley brothers, and I wondered if they were of any relation to Ginny Weasley, a seventh year girl I had. I didn't ask, though, and instead just went back to the class. I got three more letters throughout that day, one with a Gryffindor stamp, one with a Ravenclaw stamp, and another with a Slytherin stamp. I guessed whoever it was was going in cycles with them, and that guess was confirmed by the last letter I got that day, just before the time came for Lawrence's tutoring session, marked with a Hufflepuff stamp.

It was different from the others, that letter. The ones before it had all been pretty simple, maybe even sweet in a weird sort of way, but this one… it was kind of dark.

Dear Harry,

I really do care about you. I wish I could tell you so. Every moment of every day I want to write these letters. I didn't know the need would be so desperate, when I started doing this. I thought I could just write a few and get everything across, but a few simple letters just aren't enough, not even close. My original plan was to just write one a day, did you know that? Look now, though, I've already sent four, counting this one. I don't know how I'll keep this up without getting caught. I'm certain you almost came across me twice today, but you probably don't realize it. Mother said that father was this way, when he courted her, a little desperate, a little sad. She said he feared she'd told him yes out of pity. I hope that if you tell me yes, it isn't for that.

I wish I could kiss you, like your damn muggle has. I wish I could have you sit on my lap, I wish I could feed you. That first day at lunch, everyone knew he was hard as stone for you. I hated him for it, even though I'd only just met you. You were a lot nicer to me than most people are. I've never wanted this way, you know, never ached and longed for touch. I hate him for wanting to shag you even though I want the same. I want to curse him to oblivion, even though I haven't got the skill and I know it. He's strong, for a muggle. The stories are already going around that he's the one that killed the dragon to save you. I wish I could've done it.

I'd truly love to touch you, for forever, to always have a hand on you. I wish I could have your hands on me, too. I'm too young, though, I know I am, so I have to wonder why I already feel this way. I want to hold you so badly it makes me sick. I can't stand to write these, just as I can't stand not to, because you have to know. I can tell you don't like liars, right? I wish I knew more about you. Maybe one day I can come to your quarters and you'll tell me about you. All the things, like what you did to get on the Council's bad side, like the monsters you'll never forget, the people you've lost, and I know you've lost people, in your life, with what you do. I want to know everything.

I've looked, to find out for myself, and father is on the council, he's a warden. He refused to speak more of you than he did to begin with. Well, I know you'll be spending your evening with another, so I must cease writing now, so that he doesn't see. I don't want anyone but you to see these.

Signed,

Your Loving Admirer

I stared at it, and the door to my classroom opened with a clatter. As Lawrence stepped in, I folded the letter quickly and shoved it into a desk drawer. I pasted on a smile as he entered.

"Hey, kid. Had a good day?" He glared, his arms crossed harshly over his chest. I could sort of guess the answer from that, but he voiced it anyway.

"No, it was shit." I sighed.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" He shrugged, and plopped down into a desk. He stared down at the wood for a couple of seconds before he actually spoke.

"Some bitch tried to blame me for something I didn't fucking do. Dumbledore probably would have believed her, if I hadn't been in detention with you." I shrugged.

"Well, doesn't matter now, right? You didn't get blamed. May as well put it passed you. Let's get started, alright? I didn't see, yesterday, were you able to light the candles?" He nodded. "Let's see it then," I said with a wave of my hand. He stood and walked over to tall, thin candlesticks beside my desk.

"Flickum bicus," he said, waving his wand, and the candles flared up with cheerful, orange-yellow light. I grinned, crooked.

"Awesome! I guess you're ready for more now, huh?" He snickered.

"Of course. Hey, where's your muggle, anyway?" I shrugged.

"After you left, I talked to him. I guess he finally accepted that I wasn't interested, I don't know. He hasn't spoken to me for most of the day." He blinked.

"Really? He didn't seem like to type, honestly. I wouldn't have thought he'd even be able to manage that."

"Doesn't matter anyway. He'll just be embarrassed that he acted that way in two more days, after the spell wears off, or at least as embarrassed as John Marcone can possibly be."

"Thought his name was Mel."

"It is, right now, but he changed his name. It's pretty understandable, in his line of work."

"What does he do?"

"Mafia don." I got a nice, blank stare for that.

"Bloody hell. That's… didn't expect that. Well. Is he… dangerous?"

"Not yet, not really. No more dangerous than he's ever been. I guess at the moment he's sort of like a lobster with its claws tied. His people, though, if you try to pull anything on him, they've got no problem killing, and they're still as dangerous as they've ever been. The red head especially, if you try anything on Marcone." He nodded.

"I didn't plan on fucking with him anyway. He might be a muggle, but he looks like he could kick my ass good if he wanted, same with that red head, and the blonde's got magic, plus she looks like she could kick my ass. What's the next spell you want to teach me?" I held out my good hand, palm up.

"Ignus," I grunted, and a tiny ball of painfully bright, hot light, my own little floating sun, appeared in my hand. He stared at it in awe.

"Wandless magic," he whispered, "You think I could do that?" I looked at him; my head cocked, and closed my hand around the tiny sun. It flickered out of existence.

"That spell's easy," I said, a grin on my face. "A wand is just like my blasting rod; a focus. They're unnecessary. They help, yeah, but with little stuff, you don't even need it. Now, I'd never go unleashing a hurricane or a firestorm without my blasting rod, because I'm not particularly suicidal, and I'd rather not die from my own magic. I've already got a tombstone, you know, and it says I died doing the right thing, so I don't think me accidentally dying from magic-ing without my focus would be a good way to go." He held out his palm, but didn't say anything right away. I could feel him gathering will, like producing the little ball of light would be an epic, impossible feat. He let his breath out in a heavy sigh.

"Ignus." The little light flared up, maybe dimmer than mine, certainly smaller, but there all the same, hovering. "What's this thing for anyway?"

"I use it for intimidation, more often than not. If you've got an enemy who is down for the count but still not talking, send that at their face. It's almost fascinating, how quickly they'll spit out what you want to know." He laughed, a little wicked, and there was a sharp edge to his grin that was familiar for reasons I didn't care to talk about.

"Why do you have a tombstone already?"

"It was a gift. A long time ago, a vampire noble named Bianca invited me to a party in order to attempt to force me into breaking the Accords so she could kill me legally. She got her wish, but I ended up killing her instead and starting an all-out war with the Red Court. It's part of the reason why the White Council hates me so much, but honestly, that probably just added to the list of all the terrible things caused by my 'incompetence'." I tried not to sound bitter, but I'm not quite sure I totally managed it. He looked at me, and his eyes were cool but not cold, calm. They reminded me of Marcone's, and there was a silly little part of me that wished they were green instead of icy blue.

"What first caused them to hate you so much?" I closed off. I always do, when someone asks about things like that, things I can't say, and I know it's a huge tell, but I can't ever bring myself to smile and lie through my teeth like I want to. I'm usually a bad liar anyway.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Anyway, let's work on getting that spell a little bigger and a little hotter, okay? It won't do much for intimidation if it won't melt someone's face off, plus it's a good spell for learning control and endurance. It takes a lot of concentration to keep it the same size and the same temperature, but losing your concentration while performing that spell won't be nearly as dangerous as losing your concentration on a bigger evocation. It's good practice." He looked at me for a few seconds more, then smiled a little.

"I'm not going to pressure you about whatever you're hiding, okay? That's not what this is meant to do. I just… want you to know this, okay? You'll probably understand, not like all the bloody purebloods running around. I'm muggle-born, you know? My parents kicked me out when I got my letter, called me a freak. I worked hard, to scrape together the cash to buy my books for this place on my own, thinking I'd find acceptance here, but instead I got the same old shit, just with different words. I'm still a freak, just in a different way. Too high for muggles and too low for wizards. Is what happened to you similar to that?" I reached over and patted his shoulder, pulled him into a small half-hug over the desk.

"I told a girl in one of my classes already that I was pretty sure the magic in muggle-borne kids was stronger, because it's latent in those bloodlines, and latent traits always seem to come back with a vengeance. Your parents are being kind of stupid, honestly, because your magic was in one of their lines, probably your mother's, since it travels in female lines. Hell, maybe she even had a little magic, but suppressed it until she couldn't use it anymore. I know a woman who did that, and now her daughter's got magic too, and knows less than nothing about it." He cocked his head at me and gave me a half grin.

"You're a half-blood. You think that theory of yours is why you're so tough?" I shrugged.

"Probably not. My mother was the one with magic, not my father, although he knew about what she could do, and he himself was a stage magician. He talked about her all the time, when I was young, so much so that I felt like I actually knew her. Not all muggles are bad, they're just vanilla. When you live in a world of chocolate and strawberry like I do, though, vanilla starts to look really good."

"Your mother died, then? You keep talking about her in the past tense."

"Yeah, she died in childbirth, with me. My dad died a few years later, when I was six, so I was an orphan for a while."

"How long?"

"I hopped from home to home until I was ten, then I got one that was pretty stable, but that didn't work out, and at sixteen I ended up with a man named Ebenezer. I stayed with him on his farm until I was eighteen, then I moved to Chicago and got a PI license." He nodded, and held out his palm again.

"Ignus," he muttered, and the flare of light flashed up again. It was brighter and hotter this time, but smaller. I smiled at it, and him, thankful that his questions had stopped because I couldn't say more and I couldn't lie just the same.

"Put a little more will into it. Not much, just a tiny bit. Think of it like a spigot, okay? You turn it a little to get a little, and then you can shut it back off." He nodded, and with a heavy release of breathe I felt him pour in more will. The little ball lit up and blazed high. "Pull back, pull back," I said, staying calm even in the face of his wide, shocked eyes. He nodded, and breathed in, as though he could suck the magic back in through his nose, and maybe breathing actually was how he controlled his will, since I could feel a little flowing back into him, although I'd never seen it done that way before. If he had had no magic parents, though, and no master, then I guessed he'd had to teach himself a way of doing it, and that'd been what he'd come up with. Really, I supposed, it was a pretty good system. The light settled down into a sphere that could've been a twin to mine. "Good! Try to hold it like that for as long as you can, alright?" I was kind of curious to see how well the breathing technique he used would serve him, honestly. He didn't even bother to respond to me, so fixed was he on keeping his breath deep and steady, but I saw his eyes flick over to me and knew he'd heard.

I pulled out the stack of parchment that served as my lesson plans, and started expanding on them as he held his flaming ball. I looked up at him every ten minutes or so to see how he was doing, and was greeted by the same sight for an hour. I blinked in surprise, but otherwise didn't really react.

"You can end the spell now, Lawrence. That's really great, by the way! That technique is damn good!" He looked at me.

"Technique?"

"Yeah, that breathing thing you do. I've never seen will controlled like that before. I'd steal it for myself, if I hadn't been doing this long enough to control my will without thinking about it." He pursed his lips.

"Huh. I didn't even know I was doing that, actually." I laughed.

"Doesn't matter, then. Just do what you've been doing, it's pretty impressive. That kind of control is surprising, for someone that hasn't done Evocation. I guess it's just more proof of different people being gifted in different areas."

"Like your talent at Thaumaturgy? You think I've got something like that for Evocation? A natural gift or something?" I nodded.

"Yeah, I do. Everyone has different skill sets. Like that girl I mentioned, the one whose mother suppressed her magic. She can do a perfect veil like no one's business, and she could do it pretty much on her own, as soon as the idea behind it was explained. I've never met anyone who could do veils like her, in the same way I've never met anyone who Evocates like you. Hell's Bells, I think that once you're all trained up you could compete with my Warden in terms of Evocating, and he's one of the very best at it." He grinned proudly.

"Is that all for today, then?" I nodded, and he wandered out. I put my lesson plans back into my desk and went back to my bedroom. Marcone was on the floor again, and I hefted him onto the bed instead just like I had the night before. I don't really understand why, but I also curled a little closer to him than I had before, and put my arm over his. I slept better that night than I had the night before, and decided not to look at that too closely when I woke up, because no, I was uninterested, and I knew I was uninterested, and it'd be pretty fucking cruel of me to lead Marcone on, criminal scumbag or not. Stars and Stones.

* * *

Marcone's POV

I was trying to give him some fucking time, like he wanted, but did he have to make that so damned hard? I go to sleep on the floor, to give him space, and he puts me on the bed. I ignore those motherfucking letters and he gets that sad, pathetic look on his face. I don't sit by him or under him at meals and he looks all mournful. He asked me to give him time, so that's what I was doing, but why did he have to be so difficult about it? He was difficult about everything, the fucking ass. Why did I have to love someone like him? Besides, my clock was running out. I didn't have much time left to give him, before I turned back into that asshole John. I wished I didn't have to, really I did. I wished I could age naturally again, have a redo on life and fix whatever it was that had made me into such a prick, be Mel forever. I liked myself, now, but I hated that man I'd have to be. Like it mattered. Like I had a choice anymore. I flicked my eyes open and saw Harry lying beside me, his head on my arm. The limb had long gone to sleep, and I felt the uncomfortable tingling sensation zinging up and down it. I slid free carefully, so as to not wake him, stood up, and dressed. There was another letter on his desk, unopened, and I glared at it.

Well, Harry was asleep, right? He wouldn't know that that letter had been there, would he? I could get rid of it before he woke up. That wouldn't count as intruding on the space I was giving him, would it? Of course not! I crept over and tore it open, because I had to make sure it was from that 'secret admirer', since the stamp was a different color than the one I'd seen. It was. The damn thing was a desperate request for Harry to show up in the main hallway of the third floor of the school, so that whoever had sent the thing could come clean about his or her feelings or what the fuck ever. It read like a pathetic romance novel, and I ripped it up and shoved the scraps into my pants pocket. That dick would get a visit from someone a little less pleasant than Harry, that evening. Yeah, I'd decided to give Harry himself some time, not his douchebag admirers. I'd still fuck with them 'til kingdom come. I gave a sharp grin to the air and pulled out the chair before the desk to sit down. I heard the sound of someone yawning and clearing their throat, and looked around the room. Everyone was still asleep. Someone sighed.

"Over hear, dumbass. Bob the skull, the one you all were talking to a few nights ago, and the one you all promptly forgot about immediately after." I whipped around, and the skull sat there unassumingly, orange dots glinting like Halloween lights in its eye sockets.

"Should I apologize?" I asked quietly, and it laughed a little.

"Nah, I guess not. Did you have fun ripping up that letter, by the way? I'm sure it was a pretty visceral pleasure for you, huh?" I stared.

"Weren't you sleeping?" It laughed, and I wondered if holding my hand over its mouth would do anything, because I didn't want to wake everyone else in the room up.

"I don't sleep like humans do. When Harry tells me to go to sleep, he's just ordering my awareness down. I still know everything that's going on, I just can't react to it."

"But you don't need him to order you to wake up to do it?" I could almost see nonexistent shoulders shrug.

"Weren't you paying attention when I was talking the other day? Because of the name he gave me, Bob, I'm allowed to do things I shouldn't be allowed to do. The name increased my power, and gave me more freedom. That's also why I can speak without an order. If he tells me to do something directly, then yeah, I have to do it, but if just requests it, then I can choose. He generally doesn't order me around, unless something big is going down. He ordered me not to talk about you, once."

"Why?" I don't know why I was talking with it, but the sun was only just coming up, I didn't think I could get back to sleep, and I'd feel like a dick if I woke anyone else up, so I guessed the talking skull was the best option. I wondered when the hell talking to a skull actually became a viable, normal option for me.

"As soon as you met Harry," that damned voice in my head whispered, still blank but for the slightest traces of fondness. I wanted to snarl at it, but held that urge back. I didn't want the talking skull to think I was going insane or something.

"Because I was telling him about what you wanted to do to him, and informing him that while he refused to admit it to himself, he wanted very similar things. Thomas has done the same thing, although I think he was more complaining about having sexual tension and emotions dumped all over him."

"Who's Thomas?" I questioned, a little mindless, not really there but there all the same.

"Oh yeah, forgot you don't know stuff like that quite yet. Thomas is a friend of his, White Court vampire, lived in his house for a while, fucked a shit ton of women on Harry's bed and never let me watch, you know, that kind of ass." I stared at it for a second and managed a short bark of a laugh.

"The hell is a White Court vampire?"

"They feed on life energy instead of blood, like the Red Court does. One way of doing that is through sex, and right now, that's the most common way, since House Raith is at the top of the totem pole right now, and that's what they do. Some other houses and groups feed on other things though, like fear or pain."

"Oh. Did he ever…" The skull laughed.

"No, he never fed off of Harry. There are special circumstances in place around those two that I'm not at liberty to talk about." I shrugged, trying to look uncaring but I could feel my face shift with relief. Bob laughed again. "Poor little Johnny boy. I feel for you, really. Harry's got a habit of denying himself things he wants, if he thinks there's the slightest chance of what he wants being bad for him or anyone else. You're one of those wants. It's got to be torture, for you."

"What, you've never felt anything like that? Unrequited love that isn't really unrequited?" I didn't know why I was being an ass about it. I guessed it was because he called me Johnny, and sounded about as condescending as a skull can sound. The lights in its eyes flashed blue, then faded back to orange.

"I'm a spirit. I don't feel. It isn't my place in this world. I'm a creature of sensation. I like sex because it feels good. I don't like pain because it hurts. I don't understand much in the way of humans beyond that. Love, anger, sadness, jealousy, it's all Greek to me. I get the concepts, sure, I have to since I'm a spirit of intellect, but the reasons behind them, humanity's continued insistence on feeling all that… I can't figure it out, and I never will be able to. It isn't my job. Me and Harry, we've got a good thing going. Mutual assistance. He buys me novels and gave me a name; I stick around and supply him with information and whatever other help I can. Favor for favor, but I know it won't last."

"What?"

"Harry will die. I won't. He'll die, and I'll keep on living, get passed from hand to hand. I'll be used to achieve horrible things again, and I'll be used to achieve good again. I'm a construct, more or less, and ever since Mab put me in this skull, all I actually do is serve as an encyclopedia." I looked at him good, for a couple of seconds, and detected a certain bitterness in his voice.

"You work for Harry. I don't think you could do anything that bad. Harry's a good guy. He wouldn't keep you around, if he didn't think you weren't."

"I worked for a man, before. A warlock. He started both damned world wars just because he was bored. That guy got killed over five times before it finally took. I worked for another man who kept two young wizards in his house and tried to make them into his personal enforcers. I told him ways of doing it, of breaking the stronger of the two. I gave him spells to use on the one who was more susceptible to the allure of dark magic, to make her obey him. I can't tell the difference between good and evil. To me, watching someone die and healing them are the same. Harry keeps me because my personality will always take after my current owner's, and I let myself be kept despite the fact that I could break free and kill the idiot because he is, at the moment, the source of what's giving me that strength." I couldn't help but continue to stare at him, my heart suddenly thundering in my chest. My hands shook a little, and I shoved them into my pants pockets. That was when something occurred to me, and my eyes narrowed as though I were a dog catching the scent of prey.

"There's more to you not breaking free than that. I know there is, because there are others in the world that now know your name is Bob. You're worried for him, legitimately. You like him. You don't want to be used for bad things anymore." Bob's eyelights flashed, flickered, and disappeared with a soft laugh. I glared at the empty skull as the funny little thing Harry had called a house elf scrambled into the room and woke Harry up.

He sat up with a groan, eyes dark and sleep hazy, his pale pink lips slightly opened. He looked beautiful like that just like he looked beautiful any other way. His long, skinny neck was stretched high, and he yawned and smiled crookedly at the house elf.

"Thanks, Tinker." The elf lit up with a grin, and pranced away as Harry stood. It's always impressive, watching someone of that height unfold themselves until they're standing. His legs, mile long, thin, coltish, stretched out, and he crossed the room in three good strides. He shook Hendricks and Gard awake. "Breakfast time, guys. Mel's already up and dressed." Hendricks grunted as Gard's soft, monotonous snores ceased. The two sat up slowly, and Gard got her clothing and slipped out to change in a bathroom, not from shyness, I could tell, but out of an unwillingness to make anyone else in the room uncomfortable (i.e. Harry). Hendricks just stripped and changed quickly, easily, in a practiced way that suggested he'd had to change fast more than once. I wondered what the hell else I'd gotten the poor guy into, what the hell else he'd done for the sake of our friendship and my safety. Harry told me good morning, and I greeted him as impersonally as I could, even if I wanted to smile and hug him once, tight, peck his lips and walk down to breakfast with his hand in mine. It was a stupid sort of feeling, and I wondered how much longer it would be, before he finally decided that he could accept me and give up on his silly 'space' idea. He looked sad, and I wondered what the hell it was he really wanted.

Gard came back in, dressed sleekly in a pinstripe suit, and we all walked down to the great hall to eat. I sat one seat from Harry, like I had been, and instead of Hendricks, Gard took the seat beside him today. I saw him speak with the other teachers, grinning, but there was worry in his eyes, a small spark of it, and sadness, too. I hated to see him that way, but he'd asked, and I wanted to make him happy. But this wasn't making him happy, but it was what he thought he wanted, just then, so what could I really do about it?

"You are being foolish," Gard whispered to me. I glared at her. What right did she have, to involve herself in this? I clenched one hand in the slacks I was wearing, and god, what I wouldn't give for a pair of jeans, worn thin with age. I shoveled food into my mouth without really even acknowledging what I was eating. It tasted bland and dull, while the juice I downed had a sickly sweetness to it that nearly made me gag. "Destiny, fate, whatever you wish to call it, it has decreed that you and Mr. Dresden are a perfect match, entwined, two sides to the same coin." She looked at me, not harsh or cold, but not exactly warm and rolling out a welcome wagon either. I guessed indifferent was the best word to use. She was just stating a fact, or something she thought was a fact. I wanted it to be a fact too. I just scoffed a little, though, and spared a glance out to all the students. None of them were dressed in robes, like they had been, but were instead dressed in plain street clothes.

"What's going on?" I asked Gard, and she shrugged smoothly.

"I believe that this is a weekend in which some of the older students, third years and up, from what I last heard, are allowed to take a trip into a little town called Hogsmeade. There are no classes today, even for the younger students who must remain here." I nodded, and looked out to the door.

"Do you know where the main hall of the third floor is?" She looked confused, but nodded nonetheless.

"Yes. I have spent some time in this castle, and have some intimate knowledge of its layout. Is there any reason you wish to go there? At the last I heard, the third floor was abandoned, as access to it was restricted for so long. There are many students who yet think they aren't even allowed to go there." So that was why whoever was sending those damned letters wanted to meet there; it was unpopulated, unlike the rest of the giant castle. A bunch of kids probably went there to fuck all the time. A thought flashed through my mind, unbidden, of Harry panting against a stone wall, ridiculous jacket gone, pants around his ankles, robe rucked up to his ribs… I swept it away. I couldn't think of things like that, not yet, not until he was ready. I supposed that John's fucking cowardice hadn't just appeared out of nowhere.

"No reason. Think maybe you could take me up there after we eat?" I could probably fix it up so whoever was sending the letters couldn't get in, in case he'd left any other letters with the request to meet him there lying around and Harry found them. Gard shook her head.

"Mr. Hendricks and I were planning to go to Hogsmeade with the children. It has been ages since I've had a visit to Hogshead pub, and I'd quite enjoy one now, I think. Mr. Dresden," she began, turning before I could say anything, "Might you escort Mel to the third floor corridor after this meal? I would, but I am leaving the castle for the morning." He blinked, owlish and maybe a little stupid, but before I could say anything he nodded and smiled that crooked smile I couldn't say no to.

"Yeah, sure. I've got nothing better to do." The remainder of the meal passed slowly, and afterwards Harry stood and led me out of the room to the wide stairway at the center of the castle. The climbing was slow, since the damned things kept turning when we didn't want them to (and I swear I heard something laughing during that), but eventually we made it up to the third floor landing. He opened up the door, and led me inside.

The hall was curved and dark but for the pale morning light streaming in through wide picture windows. I stepped forward, him beside me, mouth open and about to speak, when the door slammed shut behind us. I heard the ominous click of a lock as Harry whipped around and jerked at the thing, but it remained closed. He cast a few spells at it, but it stayed shut just the same. He even resulted to casting fire, but the stuff just dissolved harmlessly into the wood.

"Hell's Bells," he cursed quietly. I would have joined in that sentiment, but… what better chance could I have, really? It seemed like that situation would make for a perfect way of gaining his trust and acceptance. I'd be a stupid goddamned moron if I didn't enjoy the opportunity.

* * *

Gard's POV

I'd have thought it would be far more difficult to follow a wizard like Harry Dresden, but the feat had been surprisingly simple. I supposed it was because he was distracted by John's foolishness, his attempt at giving time and space and whatever other stupidity he thought Dresden needed. I knew he'd asked for it, or something similar, otherwise John would have never started doing it, but Dresden was a bit of an idiot, I'd known that from our first meeting. He had no problem saying he wanted something he didn't want, in the same way he never could manage to get out what he actually wanted. And John was stupid as well, for listening to him.

The lot of them never ceased to amaze me with their incessant idiocy. How they could manage to dance around each other for over a decade confounded me, and Nathan as well. He, especially, had grown increasingly annoyed with John's inability to get off of his ass and make a move on the wizard, but now that he'd lost his age and done it, I saw that Dresden himself was part of the problem as well, even though I'd thought he'd be quite receptive to the idea of the relationship. It turns out that, instead, he pranced along ignorantly and called it a product of Marcone being younger. Silliness and stupidity and damnation for all of them, I'd deal with it. It might have been clichéd, on the mortal plane, might have even been seen as cruel in some circles, but I decided the 'lock them in an enclosed space together until they deal with their issues' approach was the best one to take with the two mulishly stubborn men.

I slammed the door behind them and locked it in the mortal way first, before I weaved my tightest wards over the thing, wards that would absorb magic, the sort I'd learned from fairies, so that only cold iron would shatter them, or a more talented ward-weaver than myself, which I knew Mr. Dresden was not. In a physical, base fight against me, magic to magic, he could perhaps last rather well against me, but once the fight was taken from brute strength and skill in battle, he would not fare quite so well, as I had lived far longer than he, and thus had more skill in protective enchantments. I had no doubt, however, of the power he would gain in his age. He'd be quite a force, once he moved on from a hundred. As it stood, however, he'd not be able to tear the wards away, unless he had someone on the other side break them or cut them with iron. I walked away smiling, hearing him crash against the door and try spell after spell on it. When Nathan asked the reason for my happiness, I just smiled more. Hopefully my fool of a boss would take the chance I'd offered him.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry's POV

I stared at the door in front of me and slammed my fists hard against it. I heard the thump of flesh on wood, but it was muted, somehow, partially blocked. I heaved a heavy sigh.

"Looks like we're stuck in here, Mel. The door's locked and warded. I can't break the damn thing, and it feels like fairy make, so unless you've got some iron on you, we're fucked until someone comes to get us." He nodded, looked at me but not into my eyes, instead settling his gaze firmly on my throat. The impersonality of it, coming from him, was a punch to the stomach. I started walked. "I guess we can look around, see if we can find another way out." He walked beside me silently, hardly half an inch from touching me but fastidiously avoiding it. I finally had to pause, and I don't know what the hell possessed me to say what I did. "You know, you don't have to be an ass to me just because I turned you down. Stars and Stones, can't we just have the relationship we used to? I liked that. It was nice. Expected. Something I could always be sure would stay the same, no matter what else was changing." He looked up at me and one dark eyebrow went up as he crossed his arms.

"You didn't turn me down, you asked for space and time. That's what I was giving you. And whatever relationship we had before, I don't want it. I want more. I want what we both want, and, in my case, can't admit in the future. I want to hold you, and keep you safe. I want you to do the same for me." I raked a hand harshly through my hair and stared at him.

"You've been ignoring me because I said that?" He continued to stare, eyebrow up.

"Yeah. See, when someone cares about another person, they try to do what that person asks them to." Hell's fucking Bells, I hadn't… that was unexpected. People didn't do what I asked them to. I didn't expect them to. Had I even… yeah, a request for time and space had been the gist of what I'd said. So he hadn't taken it as outright rejection, as I sign he should give up. The thought of that made my heart flutter annoyingly for a second, but it settled quickly. I wasn't some little girl with a first crush. Hell, this certainly wasn't my first crush and wait no it wasn't a crush at all disregard all of this please and thank you I swear I'll burn you alive so shut up. Ahem. Marcone looked up at me and smiled sharply, tightly, as he grabbed my wrist. "So, are you finally done with the space bullshit?"

"Finally? It's been a day."

"So it has, but hey, you didn't even know you were asking for space, so you couldn't have needed to think all that much." He sidled a little closer to me, those hunter green eyes shimmering and glinting, almost like how fairy eyes looked. Come to think of it, he probably did have some fairy in his bloodline somewhere. No simple mortal could be as ruthless as him, as good at skirting around the truth without telling lies, as good at negotiating. Stones, I'd nearly been willing to sell him my soul before, and I don't give in to many things, ever. Temptation might have my number, but it's damn hard for it to get me to pick up the phone. Marcone, much as I hated to admit it, had been able to almost manage it from our first meeting, and the more offers he gave, the closer I always came to accepting. If he hadn't given up on me when he got Gard, I can't help but think there's a chance I would've given in by now. I shoved him back and took a few steps away.

"I don't like you that way. I mean, I think I do like you, because I can admit to being upset while you were ignoring me, but not that way. I think maybe I'd like us to graduate from sort of allies to sort of friends, huh?" He laughed, wild and passionate and not at all like the man I knew.

"Don't think so, Harry." His hand wrapped around mine, the grip loose, but not loose enough I could pull away without some serious jerking. "Come on, honey, don't jerk away at this. I won't try anything else; I just want to hold your hand." I stared, I can admit it. I stared and gaped openly. John Marcone, currently Mel, who'd spent much of his time as a young man again attempting to kiss and then fuck me, just wanted to hold my hand. Was he cycling through ages now? Controlled adult to horny teen to affectionate child? No one ever just wanted to hold my hand, not even Susan. Come to think of it, when we weren't having sex, or when she wasn't trying to get me to talk to her about a case, she didn't touch me much at all. I tried to ignore how much that hurt, how it made my chest ache, because I really had loved her, loved her through and through, with all of myself. And a lot of the time… I didn't think she ever really loved me back. Maybe that was just my insecurity talking, though. Whatever. During that little inner monologue, Marcone managed to wrangle my hand a little more tightly and start dragging me along. We hit the end of the hall within fifteen minutes, and all we'd found for our trouble was more locked doors I couldn't open. We gave up and sat against a wall in the widest portion of the hall. Marcone kept my hand gripped tightly in his the whole time, and I sighed.

"Damn it, Mel, people don't just want to hold my hand, okay? Let go." He shook his head and grinned.

"Nuh uh." I jerked at it, but his hand just got tighter, and I stopped for fear that the thin bones would crack, and he was holding my good hand. I didn't exactly need two worthless hands, in my line of work. I wasn't too keen on dying just yet. I looked at Marcone's face; saw how it contained both the fleeting remnants of childhood and the beginnings of a totally adult strength and determination. Anger sparked inside me suddenly, at all this, the entire situation of the last few days, at Marcone himself, hell, even at Billius for causing it to begin with. I gave one last hard pull and my hand was released.

"Damn it, Marcone! Can't you get a goddamned clue? I don't like you in that way. I don't want you, and you don't really want me, not now, not when you get older. People don't just want me because they like my company, okay? They want something. I know, right now, that you have to want something, but whatever it is… Hell's Bells, just stop this shit!" I didn't expect that outburst from myself. I didn't just blow up like that, not ever, not anymore. My reputation was bad enough without people thinking I was unstable, honestly. The hallways went quiet, and I thought maybe Marcone had finally given up, given in, realized that whatever it was he felt, it wasn't love and never would be. I realized suddenly that I'd called him Marcone instead of Mel again without meaning to, just as I felt a hard body slam into my own and tackle me to the floor. Marcone's eyes were blazing angrily as his fists clenched in the front of my robe. My duster was pooled around me on the floor like a spreading ink stain, half-off of my shoulders.

"Fuck you. Why the hell are you so fucking certain that I don't love you, huh, Harry? Why the hell are you so goddamned certain that I couldn't just want to be with you, and not have any ulterior motives? Is it so hard to fucking believe that I genuinely like you, you goddamned motherfucking dickhead?" He punctuated his words by clenching his fists a little tighter, pulling my upper body up from the floor a little, and then dropping me back down, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to show he could hurt me if he wanted. I lay there for a second in a daze, not even thinking of using a spell. I realized suddenly that my rings and bracelet were still in Ferrovax's tower, which had probably already been claimed by another dragon. Marcone shook me a little again. "Fucking answer me, Harry. Fucking answer me right now." I stared into his eyes again, like I'd been tricked into doing when we met. There was the light of a fight there, heat where before there'd been only ice, and desperation too. There was something else as well, something warm and comforting and beautiful I didn't want to see or accept.

"Yeah. Yeah, Mel, that's hard for me to believe. There haven't been… there aren't that many people out there who love me. I don't expect that of the people who know me. I know I'm hard to care about, hard to trust, so I don't ask for anything. I take what people give me, and if that's hate, then so be it. I'm a lot easier to hate than I am to love." He released a single desperate, animal noise before he slapped me once across the cheek. The place stung, though not nearly as much as it had when Ferrovax had done it.

"Who the fuck made you think that way, huh? Tell me who it was, I'll kill them." For a second, I thought maybe he was joking, until I actually looked at him. His eyes were solid, frozen as they burned with righteous anger, his jaw was stiff and clenched determinedly, his fists were shaking in my robe. I stared at him, and he stared back at me. I had to look away first. "Not gonna say? Why are you protecting whoever made you think like that, Harry? You don't deserve it. You're amazing, and beautiful, and smart, and so fucking strong it's kind of scary. You deserve to be loved." I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The words sounded like nothing I'd heard before, honestly, and the idea of it, the simple thought that maybe, maybe, maybe there was a person on the earth that could see me as being worth actual love instead of friendship or grudging trust made me a little giddy. I hold that that's the reason why I said the stupid thing I did next.

"I guess it started when I went into foster care. I started displaying magic earlier than most kids do, earlier than what's strictly healthy, because of the stress. Losing my dad and finding out that hey, I don't have any living relatives, or at least none willing to take me, made me freak out a little, so my magic came. Most kids don't come into it until they're about twelve or so, that's why that's the age this school starts sending out letters. I came into mine at six. I started… weird shit started happening around me. The ovens broke when I came into the room, lights blew out, toys stopped working… the other kids didn't want me around. They said I was weird, that I was a freak, and the fact that families kept bringing me back… that reinforced it." His fists loosened.

"You were in the system your entire life?" he asked me quietly, looking a little scared for whatever I'd say, and yeah, I could understand that. There were a lot of horror stories about the system, and I was certain mine was one of the least frightening. I'd never been sent to an abusive home, before DuMorne, I'd just gotten sent back a lot. Most of the parents claimed I had emotional issues, that I was seeing things that weren't there, but there were one or two, maybe some of the more superstitious ones, that kind of caught on to what I was, or thought I was possessed or cursed or something similar. In those regular homes, I'd only been scared for myself once, the morning I woke up with a foster mother standing over me, her eyes wild and a knife in her hand. Suffer not a witch to live, she'd told me. That had been my first knife wound, and it probably would've killed me, if she hadn't accidentally gone wide and caught my arm instead of my chest. That wound was gone now, the scar healed away like they all did eventually. I was glad I didn't have to look at it anymore, because it made me stop wondering if maybe people would be happier if she hadn't missed.

"No, I wasn't. I got adopted at ten, by a wizard. He wasn't exactly a nice guy, though. Uncle Justin, that's what he had me call him, when he was happy with me. Master when I fucked up." Marcone climbed off of me and helped me sit back up against the wall. I protested that I could do it myself and he shot me a sharp glare as he grabbed my hands and showed me how they were shaking.

"Shut the hell up. I don't give a damn about your independent streak, you're upset and you need to talk, so talk. You said something about baseballs for shielding, the other day. Does that fucker have anything to do with that?" I nodded.

"Yeah. DuMorne was my first Master, the first one who started teaching me about magic and how to control it. He was a firm believer that pain is the best teacher, but hey, I learned quick. I can still produce damn good shields because of that, although I've gotten better recently. Bob was his, at the time, but he wasn't Bob, and he was red instead of orange. He taught me a lot back then too, when DuMorne was too busy with Elaine."

"Who's Elaine?"

"My foster sister. DuMorne adopted her about three years after me. We were lovers, too, and we were friends, when she wasn't Enthralled." I began, "And before you ask, when someone's Enthralled, it means they're totally under another person's command." I saw something dawn in Marcone's eyes, for a minute, and he wrapped his arm tightly around my waist and pulled me into him.

"He wanted to Enthrall you, though. To break you. You were the stronger of the two, and she was more susceptible to dark magic. He wanted you and her to be his personal enforcers." I stared at him sharply for a second.

"How the hell did you know that?" He smiled, but it didn't seem exactly real, and it didn't have that animalistic glint to it I'd started to get used to.

"Bob. We were talking, this morning, and he mentioned that DuMorne guy as one of the owners he had that made him help with bad things. Not by name, or anything, but he talked about that stuff. He said he gave DuMorne spells to break you, and to bring the girl under his control as well." I winced.

"Bob's been guilty about that ever since I took him. He doesn't actually come out and say he's guilty but… it's… it's kind of a thing you just know. I think he thinks I hold it all against him, sometimes." He nodded, and carefully shifted me so I was leaning on his shoulder. I wondered when he decided to handle me with kid gloves, wondered if he'd remember all this when he was back to normal, if he'd hold this weakness of mine against me.

"Go on. Tell me more about the fucker."

"What more is there to tell? DuMorne was an asshole. He fucked with me and he fucked with Elaine because he got some kind of sick thrill out of it. He never hit her, though. She was… she was better at faking the obedience, or maybe it wasn't all faked. With all those Thralls cast on her… sometimes she couldn't help but listen to him. I disobeyed a lot, though, so sometimes he'd hit me, or sometimes he'd tie me up and starve me. He liked doing that more, because people were less likely to notice that one weird kid coming into school hungry than they were to notice that one weird kid coming into school covered in bruises. Of course, after he took me out of school that didn't matter much."

"No one even noticed," Marcone suddenly hissed, "You were just a fucking kid. I thought you said you had teachers that helped you."

"I did, before DuMorne. In the other families, some of the schools they sent me to. Once I was with DuMorne, though… he didn't like me associating with vanilla mortals. He hated them, wanted to kill them or rule them."

"Where is that motherfucker, Harry honey? I'll kill him for you; bring you his head on a silver platter. Tell me where he is, and I'll have him gone before sunset." I couldn't help but laugh a little at that.

"DuMorne's already dead. Has been since I was sixteen. I killed him. Had to sell myself to do it, and the Outsider he sent after me as he died nearly did me in, but I killed him."

"Sold yourself?"

"To my godmother, yeah. I don't have to worry about that, though, since she sold my debt to Queen Mab. Just two favors left for her, and I'll be home free. Hell, I'm even almost out from under the Council's thumb."

"Yeah, I've been curious about that. Who the hell is that fucking Council?"

"A bunch of wizards. After I killed DuMorne, they tried to execute me."

"Wasn't it self-defense?" He sounded more pissed than usual.

"Yeah, it was, but I couldn't prove it. The man himself was dead, and the house was nothing more than ashes. To them, I broke the first law of magic; thou shalt not kill, so I was a warlock. A man on the council vouched for me though, so I just got put under the Doom of Damocles, which is like probation, if breaking probation meant immediate execution. That guy was Ebenezer McCoy, and he took me in after that, trained me up. He was lying too, but I've… I think I've mostly gotten over that. I moved to Chicago when I turned eighteen, and started working for a place called Ragged Angel, where I looked for lost kids, and a guy named Nick helped me get my PI's license. I started my own business after that, and the rest is history. The Doom got taken off a little while after I met you. The Council's still sure I'm bad news, though, especially the Merlin himself and my old Warden, Donald Morgan."

"And they're still alive, those two, and the rest of that Council." I nodded.

"Yeah, they are."

"They can consider themselves dead, then. I'll kill every last one of them that hurt you." I had to laugh again.

"Mel, you're a tough guy, but they're big dogs, whereas you're a yipping Chihuahua. They'd have you dead before you could think twice, and the lot of them aren't worth dying over. Besides, I've gotten a few friends on the Council over the years. They at least attempt to look after me, when shit goes down with me and the Council." Marcone shook his head.

"I don't care. They hurt you. I won't let anyone or anything hurt you anymore, Harry. I love you." I looked away, because damn it, the more I looked at him, the harder it was to avoid that pure sincerity in his eyes.

"I can look after myself." It was his turn to laugh.

"Yeah, I think I figured that much out, but you could use some help, right? Someone to share the weight of it all." There was a smile on his face, sweet and small. "Tell me more about that godmother of yours." It seemed like the words, the truth, weren't going to stop spilling out any time soon.

"Leansidhe. I called on her the night I killed DuMorne, because I was scared shitless and he'd almost managed to Enthrall me. She made a bargain with me, my life in exchange for the power to take his. I made the deal, and I burned his mansion to the ground. I thought I'd burned Elaine too, for a while, but she's still kicking, living in California now I think. Lea wanted to make me into one of her Hounds, but honestly, I think it really was just her sick, Fairy way of showing she cared about me. She knew that if I was a Hound I couldn't go out getting myself hurt. Oh, yeah, I'm scared to death of her, honestly, and I probably always will be, but she's my godmother. I care about her. Hell, I got pissed when I found out Mab was hurting her. For a while, she was the closest thing to blood family I had, until I found real blood family." I really hadn't meant to say that. I really, really hadn't meant to say that. Damn it, my big fat mouth can't stop getting me into trouble, ever.

"Who?"

"My half-brother, Thomas." In for a penny, in for a pound. "He lived with me for a while."

"The reason he never fed on you," he whispered, and I nodded, not bothering to ask how he knew what Thomas was.

"Yeah. His father, Lord Raith, is the reason why our mother died. She ran from him, and he wanted her back, or he wanted her dead. Dead turned out to be what he picked, since she'd fallen in love with my father and was pregnant with me. She died just as she was giving birth to me, and spent her death curse on him, so he couldn't feed on anyone ever again. He tried to break that curse, but I dealt with it."

"Sounds like an amazing woman, just as you're an amazing man," he told me, quietly. I rolled my eyes because it sounded like such a cliché.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, I've spouted my pathetic life story about how people accurately believe me to be weird, how about you give me yours?" His hand tightened around me.

"You're not weird, you're different. Different is good, I like different. And you've yet to tell me why you still feel it impossible for someone to show you true, selfless love, despite the fact that the primary source of your pain is long dead. I'll talk about me once you tell me that." He sounded like John again, and I sighed. It was a lot harder to argue with him when he sounded like that, honestly.

"Because people don't. My friends care about me, I know that, but Murphy doesn't trust me often, and I don't blame her for that. I always say the wrong thing around Michael, and sometimes I'm damn sure he puts up with me because he sees me as a lost sheep he needs to bring back to the flock, same with Father Forthill. Billy and the Werewolves… they like me because I help keep them safe and I keep them in the know. The Dewdrops like me because I bribe them with Pizza. Susan… hell, I loved her, but half the time I think she just kept me around because I could get her good stories. Thomas loves me because I'm his only brother, and because I love him despite what he is, and I look after him and make sure the Council doesn't catch wind of him. Familial love is a given, it doesn't count, not really. You have to love your family, because they're blood. You can dislike them, yeah, you can even hate them, but there'll pretty much always be that tiny little nugget of love in there somewhere. People don't love me selflessly, without any reason behind it. I don't blame them for it, because it's not really possible to do that with me. I fuck things up." He hit me again.

"Stop saying shit like that! All of those people, if you love them, I swear they love you. It's hard not to love you, fucking moron. I love you, and you don't love me, so you say, but I swear I love you just the same, Harry." I looked away, and he sighed, started talking. "My dad left when I was pretty young, about fourteen. It wasn't like I was all that upset about it, not really. He was a drunken asshole, and he kicked the shit out of me. I let him, too, to keep mom safe. He would've done the same thing to her, if I hadn't let him take it out on me."

"See? That's worse than the shit that happened to me. That's your family. Family takes care of family, or they're supposed to. I never had to ask why someone who shared my blood was hurting me. Thomas did, though, and apparently you did too." He sighed, and smiled a little as he pulled me down to lie across his lap. I let him, because he looked like a little kid just then, lost and alone. He started petting my hair, and I let him do that too. I knew it was comforting, to pet something when you were sad. I did it to Mouse and Mister all the time, and they let me without protest.

"Don't compare my life to yours. I had it easy, compared to you, and I know that, so stop trying to make me feel better. I got over that shit a long fucking time ago. Ma was crushed, though, when he left, because drunken asshole or not, he was the one with a job. He left us dirt broke and alone. Ma was… I did my best, you know? Got a job, would've dropped out if she'd let me. She still started drinking, though, not much, but enough that she wasn't exactly aware all the time. She still lived her life, though, went to visit friends and shit, like Nate's parents. That's how he and I became friends, actually. Anyway, we lasted okay for a while, but then we got into some deep shit. Debt started piling up, and I found out that ma had… she'd gotten some loans from some bad guys. Not the mob, but some dinky little street gang. That was when I went to the mob, sold myself for protection for her. I learned how to fight, from them, how to use guns and knives. I was real good with knives. I told him not to, but Nate followed after me, got himself involved too. We worked up the ranks together, and at this age I was planning the takeover, because I saw all the horrible shit that was happening. The mob had saved my ma's life, but they were ending a lot of others, a lot of innocent ones. I wanted to fix it, stop dicking around with my life, you know?" I had to ask, I couldn't help it. This would probably be my best chance to better understand the motives behind Gentleman Johnny.

"Why not just go to the cops?" He laughed a little, his head thrown back to lean against the wall.

"Vargassi had every cop around in his pocket. If I turned him in, chances were he'd get off and I'd get knocked off. Even if a charge had stuck, his second or someone else would've assumed command and the same shit would happen, except I'd still be dead for fucking with the organization. A takeover was the only option for getting someone decent in power. I actually wanted Nate to take the spot, but he refused, said it was my idea, that I was older, more experienced, all that shit. Said I had the better face for it, that he wanted to support me." Huh. I wondered how different the world would be, if hulking Hendricks had all the strings and Marcone was the shadowy figure behind him. Marcone would probably still be just as piss-your-pants terrifying. Either way, I probably should've guessed that Vargassi had had just as many bad cops on his payroll as Marcone did, if not more. Vargassi had been in power when I moved to the city, at the height of his reign, insofar as I knew. I hadn't been quite as prone to getting in trouble with the various criminal sectors of Chicago then as I was now. The only time I'd ever gone anywhere near Vargassi or his guys was when I'd saved a little girl from some kind of prostitution ring, and I was pretty sure Vargassi's son had been more involved in that than Vargassi himself.

"Oh. I wasn't nearly as involved with Vargassi as I am with you, so things like that kind of slip my mind sometimes."

"Not as involved? But you were involved? I never met you, and you seem like the kind of guy that would've pissed Vargassi and his kid off, extensively." I shrugged.

"I don't know, I might have. I can't keep up with everyone I piss off, Mel. The deepest I ever got in with that organization was that I saved a kid from a prostitution ring they were running and returned her to her parents. Like I said, all I did when I moved here was find missing kids, at least at first. Well, actually I did a few side-jobs in fast food places, but I don't think the Outfit finds fast food workers offensive, unless I served one of them at some point and spilt a milkshake all over them, which, I'll admit, could've happened." He paused in his petting and looked down at me.

"How old were you, when you did that?" I pursed my lips.

"Uh… twenty one, maybe? I remember going to a bar for something or another with Nick a little while after that. It might've been my birthday or something. Or he could've just been sneaking me in, so I might've been younger. I don't really remember. Oh, no, wait, I did that just a few weeks after I got the job, so I was eighteen. I was twenty one when you took over."

"Damn. I must've been planning for a long damn time, then, before the takeover happened. I should ask Nate."

"Well, I don't think hostile mob takeovers happen overnight." He laughed again.

"True enough, sweetheart. I'm kind of wondering how you lasted three years, though, if you fucked with one of Vargassi's ventures." I looked up at him and lifted my eyebrows.

"I'm a wizard, Mel. I can handle vanilla mortals, and even if I couldn't, no one ever came after me. As far as I know, they never figured out who did it. You know though, you're actually older than me. There's a decent chance you were already pretty involved by the time I came here at eighteen." He shrugged.

"Must've been older than eighteen, because I don't remember hearing about any girls getting taken." His fingers resumed stroking through my hair, and he sighed heavily. "Hey, think maybe that's how I found out about you? How I got curious about you?" I shook my head as best I could.

"We met about five years after you got your empire, because I was involved in a case where one of your guys died. You wanted to pay me to lay low for a while."

"And you refused?"

"Yeah. I'd have died, if I hadn't solved that case, because I was going to get blamed for the deaths."

"Why?"

"Black magic. You know any other wizards running around Chicago that are as strong as me? Add in my history with the Council, they thought I was the only option. Turns out it was actually someone using storms to power up their magic, but still."

"Thought you'd had friends on that fucking thing," he hissed.

"I do. Those friends are why I got the chance to prove my innocence." He cursed.

"I want to kill them, Harry. I really do." I couldn't help but smile as I shifted a little and patted his hand. It was weirdly intimate, a little uncomfortable, but it seemed to fit the situation. Stars, I had to admit that he was at least kind of flattering me, whether what he was saying was true or not. I felt an aching little part of me that desperately wanted it to be true, and I desperately wanted to kill that part. My ID informed me that now would be a pretty good time to straddle his lap and kiss him until he couldn't think up any annoyingly witty retorts. I informed my ID that now would be a pretty good time for him to stop saying stupid things and go back into the back of my head where he belonged. He said he liked me better sleeping (apparently all the little voices in my head preferred me that way), and faded away.

"A lot of people do, but most of them just don't get how tough the council is. Like I've said before, the Merlin didn't get to be the Merlin by collecting bottle caps. He's lived at least five hundred years, probably more, and he's got enough power to go toe to toe with pretty much any other mortal practitioner." Marcone stared down at me seriously, and I could see gears spinning behind his eyes. I wondered, for a second, if that was the look Vargassi and his boys had seen before their empire tumbled around them. I had a feeling that yeah, yeah it was, and I didn't exactly want to be on the receiving end of it.

"Not a lot of them at once, I bet. Enough planning, enough prep… I could take him down. You're strong, aren't you? And Gard. Hell, much as I don't want to admit it, that Snape fucker could probably help out too." I laughed.

"Mel, flattery won't get you everywhere with me, if that's what you're going for. I guess I'm pretty tough, yeah, but I'm nowhere near the Merlin's level. I'm basically a pesky bee that might manage to get a sting in before he swats me down. Even all of us together wouldn't manage it, because they've got the whole damn Senior Council, and the Wardens, even if they are spread a little thin by the war with the vampires." He quirked up an eyebrow, and his hand slid from my hair to rub circles over my stomach. I let out a pleasured sigh without exactly meaning to.

"I thought you and a vampire were related."

"Yeah, different courts. We're at war with the Reds, not the Whites. Even still, if the Council knew he and I were related, they'd probably kill him. I don't even know why I told you, but I swear, if you sic someone on him, I'll kill you." He snickered.

"Like I'd be stupid enough to try a dumbass move like that. Anyway, why are you guys at war with vampires?" I yawned, because the touch was making me tired. I don't get touched often, okay? It's… it's comforting, and I'm not exactly known for getting the most sleep out of anyone.

"Sort of my fault. I killed one of their prime nobles, and in doing so broke an accorded agreement, because I attacked first. They were going to kill a mortal, though. I didn't have a choice. The Council tried to sell me to them, to stop the war, but I stopped that."

"And the White Court members are on your side?" I shook my head.

"Not exactly. The White Court isn't our best friend, but at the moment, they hate the Red Court more, so some treaties are in progress. Vampires all see humans as kine, you know? Food. Wizards, though… vampires sort of see us how we would see a chicken that could shoot lasers out of its eyes. My fuck up at that party pretty much served as the best excuse they could possibly have to wipe us out. No more wizards mean it's a lot easier for them to have at the normal humans. Right now, though, the White Court sees the Red Court as the bigger threat than us wizards, so they're using as cat's paws like they always do, to get rid of the Reds. After that, chances are they'll send a different cat's paw after us, enslave us, all that." He stared down at me and happened to run over a particularly ticklish area of my stomach. I didn't giggle, by the way. I laughed in a very powerful, manly manner. If anyone tells you otherwise, then they're lying, and lying is very wrong. And stuff. He grinned, and ran his hand over the place again, over and over, as I cackled and squirmed. He finally stopped, though, after he got his amusement, and the hall was silent for a while, but for our breathing and the steady sound of his hand rubbing over the fabric of my robe. I still didn't know why I was letting him do this, though, and certainly didn't know why I'd let him… tickle me. I mean, Hell's Bells this was… it was almost like we were friends. I wondered, for a second, if we even could be.

The sun streaming in through the windows got brighter as afternoon came, and even though the room had been silent, for a while, Marcone spoke up again.

"Hey, Harry?" His hand had finally stopped moving, and instead just sat steadily on my stomach, rising and falling with my breath. His other had tangled into my hair. Why hadn't I sat up yet? I couldn't believe how much I was enjoying the simple pleasure of lying with my head on someone's lap.

"Yeah?" My voice was a little cracked, but I swear it was because I hadn't drunk anything in a while.

"Will you tell me what happened to your hand?" I could almost feel myself go stiff, because there's a difference between telling someone about bad things you've already done, bad things that have already been dealt with and telling them about the shadow of a fallen angel that lives in your head and lets you augment your magic and hey, funny story, turns out my old shield bracelet didn't absorb heat, so my hand got fucked up when I set some shit on fire with my powered-up-by-Hellfire flame spell, oh, and also, I've got the mark of said fallen angel on the palm of that fucked up hand, just in case no one figured out that she's sort of living in my head at the moment. He looked down at me steadily, and my mouth opened and closed a few times, gaping like a fish, before words finally decided to come out, not a lie, since I couldn't lie to save my life, but a half-truth.

"I had an accident with a fire spell and my shield." There were those eyes again, John's eyes set in a too-young face, just as unnervingly pretty as they always were.

"I don't think that's all of it." And of course he can tell a half-truth from twenty miles away, because when are things ever easy for me?

"I guess you're right. I was fighting with some members of the Black Court, and they were using what amounted to napalm, and there was a bomb, and a whole lot of other really scary shit. I found out my old shield didn't protect against heat. That's why I made a new bracelet, but it looks like I'm going to have to make it again, and all my rings, since Ferrovax took them and threw them somewhere in his pile." I thought maybe I could divert him, with talk like that, but he'd apparently turned into a dog with a bone.

"Can I see it?"

"Why? It's an ugly lump of scars. I can hardly use it sometimes, even though the use has been steadily coming back into it." He smiled.

"I don't care. I want to see it." I sighed, and because hey, I didn't have to show him my palm, I just took the glove off. As always, it was sort of a shock to see the skin there, all waxy with flashes of ugly red and pink and white, with flecks of purple-blue where there were veins. I had to admit, though, that it did look a hell of a lot better than it had, and I'd gotten a lot of use back into it. I didn't sound nearly as bad on the guitar now, either, although I knew that was partly Lash's doing. Marcone lifted his hand from my belly, took my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it softly. The thought that maybe there was something to the whole 'Gentleman Johnny' moniker flashed through my mind before I savagely kicked it away. "Just as beautiful as the rest of you." And then he flipped the damn thing over, and I could see the moment he caught sight of that single patch of healthy skin shaped as an hourglass. "The hell?" I had to look away from him.

"That would be the thing that made me an even more damaged package than I already was."

"Explain." He said it in a tone that demanded obedience, one with determination and stubbornness and the power to back it all. I normally wouldn't have conceded to it, but there had to have been something in the air in that hallway. That's my story, at least.

"A fallen angel's living in my head. Lasciel. She's part of the Knights of the Blackened Denarius. The leader of that organization threw the coin that held her in front of my friend's toddler, and I grabbed it so he wouldn't. I buried the coin in my basement under at least six feet of concrete and my circle, but her shadow is still in my head. She helps me, sometimes, shows me some of the power I could get if I took up the coin. One of those things is something called Hellfire. If I use it, it makes my magic stronger. I used it in the fight that got me this hand, and in that fight you saw against Ferrovax. That mark, on my palm, is her seal." He cocked his head at me and actually smiled.

"Probably should've guessed something like that, from the smell some of those spells were giving off. And I've already met her, and the thing that calls itself your ID."

"Huh?"

"In dreams. I don't know how, or why, but your ID visited me twice, once with that shadow." Well now, wasn't that an interesting thought? My ID went gallivanting off into the dreams of mobsters whilst I was unaware. I'd probably have to have a talk with him about that, honestly, but I couldn't imagine how it could possibly go well or be not-awkward. He let me put my glove back on, and his hand settled back on my stomach, now drumming out a staccato beat that I, without really paying attention, joined in on by thumping my fingers against the floor. He snickered, and we did that for a while as the sun started to go down and the room started to get dark. As starlight began to filter in, he shifted us around so we were laying side by side, his arm over my waist. Just before he went to sleep, he landed a light kiss on my lips, and I was too shocked to react. It had been an entire day, almost two, since he'd last done that. I was kind of hoping I'd get to live the rest of my life without random kisses from scumbags, but I guess that was probably too much to hope for anyway.

* * *

I woke up the next morning to bright early dawn light streaming in through the windows and to the smell of bacon and eggs. Those were the things I really paid attention to. I slid Marcone's arm off of me, even though it had been draped across my hips like a blanket, and grabbed the nearest plate, along with the glass of orange juice beside it. Apparently whoever had gotten us locked in here was at least considerate enough to feed us. I shook Marcone awake and showed him the food, and he ate almost as ravenously as I did. I realized, suddenly, that this was his last day of being eighteen. I wondered if there was any possible way of getting through it without any more insane hijinks and decided pretty quickly I should probably give up on that notion. I'm a wizard, not a miracle worker. Insane hijinks follow me around like stray cats, especially where Marcone is involved.


	8. Chapter 8

Marcone's POV

The food tasted familiar, but I couldn't place it until the sun was getting higher and my plate sat empty. It came as a shock, though, when I finally realized just who had made the shit.

"Nate!" I yelled it in my surprise, and Harry jumped a little, nearly dropping his own plate. His face split into a sudden bright grin that made me smile back, because it was just so damn sweet, with a touch of innocence I knew he didn't actually have.

"Why didn't I think of that? Yeah, call Hendricks and Gard! They'll get us out of here!" I shook my head.

"Not what I meant. Nate made this stuff. I'd recognize his cooking anywhere. If it wasn't for him knowing how to cook, I'd have been screwed, when I moved out of Ma's place. I never learned to cook, you know?" He stared at me, and something like understanding brightened his dark eyes.

"Oh, Hell's Bells! I should've thought of that, too. Wards like that… Gard probably is the only one around here that could do it. They're fay make, and I'd bet she knows the Erlking, or at least someone from Fairy. You could probably call them anyway, though. I've got no idea why Gard would put us in here, but I don't exactly want to stay here all day." I nodded, and pulled my phone from my pocket. It fizzled and sparked wildly the second I turned it on, and I had to drop the damn thing for fear of my hands getting burned. Harry heaved a sigh.

"Good fucking timing," he hissed, glaring down mournfully into his plate.

"That was you?" I asked, and he nodded, almost sad.

"Yeah, there's this thing with wizard's and technology. It's not the worst thing magic has ever caused us to do, but it's pretty damned inconvenient sometimes. Like now. Sorry about that, by the way. I'll pay for it, eventually." I smiled and patted his arm as he finished the food.

"It's not like it's a big deal. They'll come get us when they're ready, and they're obviously not going to starve us." He gulped down what remained of his juice, and I wondered, for a second, whether he'd taste sweet or tart just then.

"Whatever. Times like this I wish I just curdled milk, like Ebenezer used to." A sputtering little laugh slid out of my mouth, one I didn't quite know the reason for, and I slid both of our plates and glasses out of the way.

"Curdled milk?"

"Yeah, the ramifications for wizards change about every few centuries or so. Messing with technology is actually a pretty new issue for us. Before that, we curdled milk whenever we went near it, and before that fire would burn different colors when we were nearby. That one was pretty annoying, or so I've heard, since that would happen when killing practitioners was pretty much the favorite pastime." I nodded, and looked at the phone. The me who called himself John would probably be pissed about it, but I couldn't really bring myself to give a fuck. I had no problem being trapped someplace with my Harry. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall while he stood up and paced or something. I drifted back into sleep to the sound of his steady steps before I even really realized what I was doing.

"You really think I care about one damn phone that much?" That familiar but not voice came quietly, and I found myself wishing for the other Harry instead. He was weird, and he was a pain, and not the Harry I wanted, but he was better than the prick who stood before me now, with barely there wrinkles around his mouth and eyes and graying hair and dull, dull eyes. His suit was dark gray, almost black, and a red tie sat perfectly around his neck. I sneered at him, but he just gave me a fatherly smile that pissed me off even more.

"Probably. You seem like a fucking dick. I wish I didn't have to become you." He kept smiling.

"Harry has damaged things far more valuable to me than that phone, and I've yet to cease loving him. Hell, he caused me to have to burn down one of my clubs, greatly damaged another of my buildings when he destroyed a trashcan in a rage, and has burned or damaged countless other of my properties. It is simply who he is, and I've long come to accept that." I laughed, and crossed my arms tight over my chest. I'd done that my entire life, whenever I wanted comfort I couldn't have. It made me feel better when I was alone. John looked at the gesture distastefully.

"Whatever, asshole. He doesn't like you anyway."

"I do hope you realize that you just said the one you love doesn't like you."

"I ain't you." He broke into a laugh, and shook his head as he stalked towards me with easy grace I'd never had before.

"We are one in the same, I'm afraid, although I don't much like looking back on your memory either. You made me into what I am, and those memories continue to shape me, just as the events in my life have. Beating the shit out of things I don't like is fun. I will admit to missing it, honestly. I simply cannot do that anymore, though, not in my position. Our position. We rule Chicago, you understand. Keep her safe. Harry is part of Chicago, her life's blood, to me. Us. I'd be unable to stand going back without him, and yet I can't leave my empire alone for long either."

"Like all that matters to me. You're so fucking blinded by that damn empire… if I had to, I'd stay here to be near Harry. Give Chicago over to Nate, let that Gard chick be the new second. They'd be fucking unstoppable anyway." John snapped a finger, and instead of blank emptiness, the environment became a sort of storage facility, one with a lock on the door. John touched said lock, and it disintegrated and the door fell open. He led me into the facility.

"You may believe what you wish, but you and I, Mel, are one in the same, and shouldn't our continued love of Harry be enough to allow you to see that?" I huffed, and he paused in front of one locker, then ripped it open. The sound of a bullet was the first thing I heard, then I saw the face of that girl I recalled, but now it was younger and bloody and, oh god, but it hurt. She'd taken a bullet meant for me, from Marco goddamn Vargassi, clumsy, spineless, worthless beast of a man that he was. Twenty. I was twenty, there. A year, maybe two, left of being Mel. In the in-between stages. Damn Harry's ID. I looked at myself and recognized suddenly John's thing with kids, the one Harry kept talking about. I'd always liked kids, yeah, always wanted to protect him, but on that day, the day I saw a woman and a man crying over that little girl's fallen body and had to just run away… that was when that care for kids grew to what it was now. I saw some of John's coldness come into myself too. It was dangerous to show too much, in that new world, dangerous to feel. If I didn't feel, I couldn't be hurt. My chest ached. John closed the locker's door, but the memory stayed. We walked.

"Feeling isn't always bad, Johnny," I hissed at him, "Emotion is good."

"Yes, I realized that later on. Perhaps a bit too late, if I'm honest. It is not feeling that is bad, but showing the feeling, revealing too much." I hugged myself a little tighter, and another door was opened. I got Vargassi. Took everything over, brought order to the chaos. There was rebellion, of course, but I crushed it. The only ones left around were the ones that had long earned my trust. John's ruthlessness, his efficiency, woke up in me. I snarled at it, but it just gazed back with cool, calculating emptiness. Vargassi and his son were sent off far away instead of killed. By now, they were probably both dead or so deep underground they may as well have been, but they'd never come back to Chicago. They knew what would happen to them if they did.

"It hurts, damn it. John, being this way fucking hurts."

"At times, yes. Harry and Nathan both calm that pain, however. They both remind me I'm still human, still alive." I growled, and my chest still hurt. I felt my muscle shifting, hardening as I transitioned completely from boy to man. John shut the door, and we walked again. Another door was pulled open. The girl wasn't dead. She was alive, in a hospital, kept that way by Vargassi and his guys as insurance. I hated them, and wished suddenly I'd gone ahead and killed them. Not even her mother, her mother who'd so loved her, knew where she was, and I couldn't risk saying anything. I often travelled there on my own, to look after her, read to her, make sure the poor thing knew she wasn't alone. She was deteriorating slowly but steadily. Expectedly. The doctors had lost nearly all of their hope. I can admit that I whimpered. "I, right now, can't help but hope that perhaps Harry will be able to do something for her, even if that something is only make certain that she is in no pain, that she does not suffer." I coughed, and felt something in me harden. Maybe it was my soul. I didn't quite like it, it was different, inhuman, and damn, but it hurt, but I felt stronger. Wiser. Braver. I walked behind John. Walked behind myself. Another door was opened.

One of my guys was dead, a trusted man, one of my right hands. Killed along with the woman he'd been with. I felt John's anger, John's purpose, shift within me. The instinct of protecting with all I had, because my guys were everything to me. Without their loyalty, I'd have long been dead. Harry was on the case, I'd found out, but then he'd just been Dresden, the possible scam artist, but I was willing to believe, because I'd caught sight of a few funny things before, things that couldn't quite be explained. I asked him to take what amounted to a paid vacation, but he refused, staunch and defiant and sarcastic and far, far more attractive than I'd been expecting. I could feel power pulsing beneath his skin, the sort I'd never felt before. I'd read about something Wizards could do, something called a Soul Gaze, and tricked him into it. My memory of that was as clear as if it had just happened, perfect in its detail.

At the center of that memory was heat. Passionate, intense, powerful. Everything Harry himself was. It wrapped around me, but didn't burn, instead just pierced through the frozen outside of John's heart, my heart, and warmed me from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. With the heat, though, perhaps even as a part of it, there was a bone deep sorrow, one that filled me up completely, totally, one that ached and throbbed and grew as it remained unhealed. There was love, too, love that was boundless and without question, the sort of love I'd always wanted shown to me. In his soul, I supposed I'd seen only his essence, those facts that defined him, no particular moment or memory, but that soul… it was what made me want him so much. It was what made me fall in love with him that very day. I offered him a job, and, though I'd expected it, it still hurt when he turned me down, when he looked at me with no small amount of shock and fear. It was that day, too, that I made a vow to make certain that that sorrow I'd felt in him didn't grow anymore, at least not because of me, that I'd heal that pain where and when I could. That night, I had my first dream of him giving me even a fraction of that perfect, pure love of his, and found no distraction from the woman I'd brought to my bed. John closed the door, and I looked sharply at him, by breath coming in heavy bursts. I'd finally filled out the suit I was wearing, until it fit me properly.

"He's hurting," I whispered, and John nodded. I wondered why I was still insistent on calling him John, when our faces now matched, when my heart had frozen over just like his despite whatever protests I had about it. I realized that even my voice had sounded like his, when I spoke.

"Indeed he is, but he's told you part of the reason behind that hurt, I believe. Perhaps speaking of it will help him ease his pain, or perhaps there is yet more you, I, will have to do for him. Come, there are still more memories for you to rediscover." I nodded, and followed after him, watched as he opened another door. Behind this one I saw myself hanging over a pit, Harry below me in said pit, along with some of his friends. A snarling beast, a werewolf by the name of MacFinn, lunged for me and I cut myself loose, saved them. Harry then proceeded to kill myself, and it was then and there that I was shown just exactly how strong he was, how much more power he had when he was fighting for his friends. I wanted to count myself in that number. The door shut, and we walked to yet another door.

In it, I was in an office, but it wasn't mine. A giant man sat on the other side of the desk, beard thick and an eyepatch over one eye. Donar Vadderung. I was there to hire someone magically inclined, because things would soon grow rather dangerous. I was attempting to steal the Shroud of Turin, for Amanda, so it would bring her back. Ms. Gard was called in, and I hired her on site. The door closed, another opened. Harry was standing before me in a suit, looking cleaned up and handsome, his attractiveness on display for the whole damned room. I felt anger pulse in my chest, and it only grew stronger when I finally registered the lovely woman beside Harry. Her name was Susan Rodriguez, and I recalled that I'd recently heard she'd begun transformation to a Red Court vampire. They were there for the same reason as me, to get the Shroud. I nearly wanted to tell him why I needed it, tell him I'd allow him to have it as soon as it had served its purpose to me, but the danger was too great. I trusted him, knew he wouldn't harm her, but some of those who wished him dead weren't nearly as polite. Yet again the door closed, yet again a door opened. I now saw myself fighting brutally against a bland looking man who had evil in his eyes and a sentient shadow. His name was Nicodemus, and he nearly killed Harry, myself, and Harry's companion Michael. Harry managed to defeat him, showing yet again how strong he truly was, how much power was contained within his relatively small body.

"Amazing," I had to whisper, and John nodded as another door opened. It showed me threatening Harry in little Amanda's hospital room, scared that I hadn't noticed him following me, scared that he wasn't really Harry, scared that someone had followed him, scared he'd inadvertently lead someone here… I could feel how guilty I was immediately after, when he allowed me the Shroud for three days. I should have known that Harry wouldn't let himself be followed, wouldn't attempt to hurt me that way. With words, yes, he was perfectly willing to cut me, wound me, and perhaps, given the proper cause, he'd even be willing to harm me physically, but I should have remembered he'd never hurt another, especially a child, to get at me. I still felt guilty over that day, over the half-scared wildness in his eyes when I grabbed the front of his t-shirt, after I'd made a promise to never do such a thing again. I had to turn away from the memory, and John smiled sadly. We went to another door, and I saw Harry nearly being killed by a young Asian and a pretty girl. Gard informed me that I'd interfered with fate, that Harry was supposed to die that day, in that alleyway. I didn't care. Any threat to his safety was a personal threat to me, and I'd deal with it as such. We went to the final door, and I saw Harry offering me a place as the Freeholding lord of Chicago, in exchange for me helping him stop some insurrection that was planned within the White Court. Even without that offer I'd have agreed to help, but he was making the offer, and I couldn't turn down the extra influence, the extra opportunity to save lives, to keep Harry himself safe. John looked at me.

"You've now regained all of your memory. Are you prepared to awaken?"

"Of course. I do understand a bit better now. Why you are how you are. Why I am how I am. I don't… I don't hate this man I am anymore." John smiled.

"Then you're doing far better than me." The storage facility around me faded to black, John with it, and I, now John again myself, awoke. Harry was crouched before me, worry etched into his face.

"John? John, Hell's Bells, are you alright?" I blinked, dark specks performing a very intricate, interesting ballet in my eyes that made me think it'd be wonderful to go back to sleep. Harry shook me a bit.

"Why would I not be, Harry?" He smiled, a little shaky but real, which, I suddenly realized, had always been something of an accomplishment.

"You're not allowed to call me that anymore. Even if you did suddenly snap back to your old age and start yelling like a madman." I blinked, and some of the black spots went away.

"Yelling?"

"Yeah," he said, and gained a small blush at the apples of his cheeks, "My name, a lot. That's why I came over here. I thought your memory returning was giving you nightmares or something. So, do you remember everything that's happened this past week?" I had to think hard about it, and a few details remained fuzzy, tangling messily into the memories I'd gained when I was actually eighteen, rather than magically so.

"Most of it, yes. I saved you from a dragon, professed my love to you, and… oh, hell. I took up a Sword of the Cross. How did I even…" He sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know, or want to know how you even managed to get it, John. It was in my apartment, John. My apartment. You've seen my apartment; it's warded to hell and back. Christ, I've been told some of my wards would make a few lesser demi-gods think twice about breaking in. I want to know even less how you managed to convince Him to let you keep it. Also, you seem to be surprisingly calm about the whole 'professing your undying love to me' thing. And, the whole 'biting another teacher and threatening an eighteen year old girl' things." I smiled, and my vision returned completely to normal, although I still felt a bit dizzy.

"I can't very well be upset that I told you the truth whilst in that state, Harry. And I'm afraid I don't recall biting one of your coworkers, or threatening one of your students. I fear that similar events happened often enough in my youth that I can't distinguish the memories." Harry raked a hand through his hair, and seemed almost lost. I reached out to wrap my arm around him, and pulled him into me gently. In his shock he allowed it, and I felt his heart thudding, far faster than mine, in his chest. I squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Marcone?"

"I truly do love you, Harry. All that shames me is that I was so rude to you in admitting so." I could feel him shaking his head.

"No. Nuh uh. You don't… love me. Not you. Mel, maybe, but not Gentleman Johnny."

"You were growing to believe that my younger self's love was true?" I could feel his face flame, and wondered if I could take the fact that he'd yet to pull away or use magic on me as a sign of something.

"I think so, yeah. It was getting hard to think of it as a lie."

"I am my younger self, you know. Mel and John are one in the same, always have been, always will be. You know, Harry, do you not think the fact that it was your name I yelled means something?" He shrugged, and I hugged him tighter. "I've loved you since the day we met. I've tried hard to ignore it, to change it, but it doesn't change the fact that I have. Your soul was beautiful. I want to fix the hurt I saw there." His fingers tensed into claws, and his nails, though mostly blunted, were still sharp enough to tear small holes in the fabric of my shirt. Unbidden, I thought of other situations in which that could happen, countless dreams, countless fantasies, some rough, some sweet. I recalled one in particular that had always been one of my favorites, one of Harry under my desk, sucking me off while I conducted a meeting. Thought of another, of me and him in his apartment, curled up in front of his fireplace. Another, he and I in my car, the window between the front and the back seats up but certainly not thick enough to block all the sounds we were making. I looked up and caught his eyes; saw that his nose was scrunched up and that there was a crease between his eyebrows. He leaned forward suddenly and kissed me. As the shock faded, I, of course, returned it. It was a soft kiss, an exploratory one, me allowing him to take the lead.

He licked at my lips, and I opened my mouth complacently, shuddering as his tongue slipped into my mouth and teased my own. After a few seconds of that, though, I herded him back into his own mouth and took my turn. He groaned, softly, and his arms spasmed around me as he moved away.

"Stars," he mumbled, hardly loud enough to hear.

"I'm certainly not complaining, but might I ask what brought that on?" My own voice was hardly a whisper.

"I wanted to… I wanted to, I don't know, see. See if you were telling the truth. Kisses feel different, if the person you're kissing loves you. You don't kiss the same as you did when you were younger, by the way." I actually felt jealous. Of myself. I sighed quietly.

"Is that an insult?" He cocked his head, like a curious dog.

"No, not really. I mean, I probably don't kiss how I did when I was younger either. I haven't exactly had a girlfriend last that long. It's just… really different. Really, really different. Hell's Bells, the first time you, or Mel, or whoever, Stones, this is getting confusing, grabbed me and kissed me, I felt like my lips were going to bruise. That didn't feel like that. It didn't feel like any other kiss I've ever had either. I don't know what to describe it as."

"Is 'nice' not in your vocabulary?" He huffed out a laugh and pulled away from me, to sit beside me.

"Not really, no. It's not a word I get to use too often. You remember what we talked about, last night?" Of course I did. Harry had told me of his past, his childhood, and I'd told him of mine in turn. I nodded.

"I don't really see where it's something I could forget, love. I've wanted to talk to you like that for a long time." He looked to talk to you like that for a long time.s childhood, and I'd kissed me, I felt like my lips were going to bruise. ed at me, his dark eyes too serious, his mouth set in a hard line.

"Yeah, you've been saying stuff like that a lot. What I want to know is why you never did. You're not a shy man, John. You never have been. Forgive me if I'm suspicious that you suddenly say you have feelings for me, and always have." I had to laugh. All that had happened, all I'd done for him, and he couldn't believe I was genuine.

"I may not be a shy man, but you're not a safe one either. Forgive me if I had a fear of being immolated should I run up and tell you that I loved you, and would very much like to hear about your life, tell you about mine, and then kiss you until you can't talk and fuck you until you can't breathe." He rubbed his palms into his eyes and gasped theatrically.

"Gentleman Johnny can say fuck?" I punched his arm lightly, friendly, and he managed a grin. "Anyway, I don't make it a habit of setting people on fire, you know? Sometimes I have to, but I don't exactly enjoy doing it to vanilla mortals. Still, I do have to say I probably would've reacted badly to that."

"And you're not reacting badly to it now because?"

"You've been molesting me all week. I think I can handle a love confession, and a kiss I initiated."

"Molesting?" I couldn't really remember that. Kissing him, yes, I remembered I'd done that a few times. I remembered sleeping beside him, holding him tightly. I remembered requesting to hold his hand last night. I hadn't thought I'd gone much farther than that. Harry blushed, cherry bright.

"Yeah. You held me down on my bed by my wrists once, got off on me talking and then proceeded to go masturbate in the bathroom and yell my name a lot, bounced me on your lap during a meal, and bent me over my desk in my classroom. Oh, you also called me a cock tease once too." That all… sounded nice. I wished I could have remembered that, but, again, it was likely something that had happened too often in my youth for me to differentiate the memories now.

"I'm afraid I can't recall all of that, although I wouldn't be averse to repeating it now." He flushed again.

"You know, it's a lot easier to avoid taking stuff like that seriously when you say it crassly. You talked about fucking my ass all this week and I didn't blush, but now that you're being all proper about it I look like a goddamned tomato." I laughed.

"Would you like me to apologize? Or would you prefer if I attempted to sound like a teenage punk again?"

"Can you maybe just stop propositioning me?" I shook my head.

"I don't think so, no, although I don't see why you would want me to. You kissed me not five minutes ago, and seemed to rather enjoy yourself." His sigh was long and heavy and low, and he looked at me again. I'd never noticed, before, how rare it was that he actually looked at me instead of some point off to the side. I only got his direct gaze when what he was about to say was important to him.

"You're not an ugly guy, Marcone. I've admired men before, I can admit to it. Hell, I've admired you before. I've had a thing for your eyes since we met. I am attracted to you. I'm attracted to a lot of people. Stars, I'm attracted to my married best friend in the whole damned world, and his wife. I'm pretty sure he knows I am, too, and chances are so do most of the guys I've looked at, and the women. Me being attracted to someone is a lot different from me wanting to be in a relationship with someone." He was dancing around my words, admitting a little so he wouldn't have to admit a lot.

"I don't believe you go around kissing everyone you're attracted to. I certainly don't, although I must say that my thoughts have been completely consumed by you for quite some time, and so I may not be the best example for such a thing." He winced.

"Damn you, John. No, I don't go around kissing everyone I'm attracted to. In my entire life, I've kissed maybe four or five people, not counting you, and had a relationship with most of them. Kissing is weird for me, for most Wizards, because pieces of auras get exchanged; feelings come into play, all that shit. Hell, the White Court's power is focused on the lips, from what I've been able to deduce. The burns they get from love always seem more severe around the mouth, at the very least."

"I believe what you're trying to say is that you'd like to have a relationship with me?" I tried to ignore how my heart clenched, tight, as hope blossomed in me. He looked at me steadily.

"Maybe. You do love me, I'm pretty sure, and over the past week, I think I've gotten to know you pretty well. You're… different, from a lot of people. I've told you more about myself than I have pretty much anyone. I like you. You're a good man, deep inside yourself. A man I respect, much as I hate to admit it. I can't say I love you yet, no, because love is hard for me, and it usually works out badly, but I think I could. A relationship with you wouldn't be terrible." For those words, I awarded him with an armful of John Marcone, very eager, and pressed a kiss to his lips, rougher, perhaps more reminiscent of the ones he'd shared with my younger self. He whined, and I worked quickly to shove his jacket from his shoulders. Once it was removed, I moved on to his robe, and accidentally tore it. He managed a grunt at me for that, before I distracted him by sucking a mark, bright red, onto his neck. As I pulled his t-shirt over his head I smirked at it arrogantly, my mark on his skin, not permanent but close enough to make me happy. His jeans came next, and I suddenly realized that he had been pulling rather insistently on my suit jacket, and I rolled my eyes as I took it, and my button down, off myself. He grew impatient as I messed with the buttons, though, and tore it the rest of the way off, buttons scattering in a few placed around the room.

"Really?"

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" he grinned, and worked the button of my slacks free, so I could shimmy out of them, and my boxers, before I removed his. His dick curved proudly up to his stomach, and I was reaching for it just as he grabbed mine and twisted once, harsh. I hissed, and jerked into his hand before I could gain control of myself. He grinned, and did it again, although I managed to control myself far better that time, and twisted myself free from his grasp. He looked confused until I dipped down and took him into my mouth quickly, sucking hard and lavishing the head in attention from my tongue. He produced a keening noise, and I pulled off of him to smirk.

"Indeed it is." I then returned to my work, and pressed the flat of my tongue into the vein marking the underside of him, scraping my teeth lightly over the sensitive flesh. He bucked, and I shifted one arm to hold his hips down so he wouldn't choke me. I'd done this before, yes, but it had been quite some time, and I would prefer not gagging just then. He whimpered at the restriction, and I used my free hand to cup his balls, roll them gently, until his eyes were clenched shut and he was jerking against my hold stutteringly. A sudden memory burst through to me, of him doing this to me in a plush red room, but that couldn't be a memory, could it? No man I'd ever hired looked that much like Harry, though there were differences. The man who'd sucked me had cold eyes, and a small beard rather than the occasional stubble Harry wore. He'd called himself Harry's ID, asked me to protect the real Harry. He'd liked having his hair pulled, I recalled, and had said a great many crude things about the real Harry's desires. I wondered… I pressed my arm down harder, hard enough that it would likely bruise, and he choked on a moan as I continued to suck him, slowly taking in more and more until he hit the back of my throat and I swallowed. His fingers scrabbled at the stone beneath us.

"Fuck!" he yelled, though his voice cracked in the middle of the word, and he strained against my hold as he came suddenly. I licked up what I didn't swallow to begin with, and looked up at him. His eyes were lust-drugged and hazy, half-lidded, and his mouth was open as he panted. An attractive flush brightened the hollows of his face, and I smiled at him, knowing my own eyes were dark and lidded as well. He spread his legs a little in invitation for me to do what I pleased, but I shook my head.

"Not yet," I said. "Not right here. There's no way of being certain when someone will come to get us from this room. We are trapped here, are we not?" He nodded distractedly, and gestured at my dick, still hard. I sighed, and he gently pushed me off of him and crouched in front of me.

"Wouldn't be fair if I was the only one who came. I don't like leaving people I sleep with unsatisfied. I probably couldn't suck you off right now, but I can jerk you off, and you can come on me if you want to." He shrugged, and I shuddered with surprise. My come on Harry's face… I allowed my legs to fall open some, and he took me in his hand, pulling, twisting, up and down, long fingers wrapping easily around me. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed myself for the first time I could remember, and there at the end, as my jerking hips grew random and unsteady, he lowered his mouth and licked me once. I came hard, into his mouth, over his face, and when I opened my eyes and saw him that way, covered in my essence, I felt my cock twitch again. Harry looked at it incredulously, and I had to laugh. That, of course, was when the door slammed open, and Nathan barged in. He took one look at us, Harry specifically, turned on his heel, and marched out. Gard came in a second later, blinked twice, sighed, and left. Harry looked mortified. I laughed again, pulled a handkerchief from my jacket, and wiped his face clean for him. He actually gave me a grateful smile at that.

* * *

Harry's POV

I just got my dick sucked by John Marcone. Have you ever had one phrase you never thought you'd never, ever say? Yeah, that was one of those phrases to me. Another one, which was also now true, was 'I just had two of my kingpin boyfriend's favorite bodyguards walk in on me and their boss and see me with come all over my face.' Actually, I hope that particular statement is on everyone's list of 'things they'll never say', because no one should have to suffer that mortification. Except for me, of course, because hey, I'm a glutton for punishment. At least John cleaned me off, I guess. I've decided I maybe shouldn't refer to him as Marcone anymore, after that. Would seem kind of impersonal. Oh, god. What was Murphy going to say? Stars and Stones, what was Michael going to say? Or Thomas? Oh, no, wait, Thomas would probably just give me a high five or something like that. Which reminded me, he'd threatened to kill me if I didn't contact him every week, and hey, today was the last day of the week, wasn't it? I probably needed to call him, tell him about what all had happened, edit out the parts where I got kidnapped by a dragon and John stole Fidelacchius, but include that I got a boyfriend, Thomas, and that's actually really cool so you don't need to threaten to take his danglies or anything because I think I might kind of like those where they are, thanks. I heaved a sigh, and got dressed as quickly as I could, watching as John did the same, and we crept from the room just as the lunch bell rang for the students and teachers not on the town trip. I ignored it, went up to my room, and called Thomas. John followed me.

"Harry!" he said, a smile obvious in his voice, "How's your new job treating you? You get settled in okay?" Hearing him talk was a blessing, after all that had happened. Family really can cure all ills.

"Yeah, I'm doing okay. John followed me here." He paused, and for a few seconds I just heard him breathing.

"John Marcone? Gentleman John? The mobster?" I nodded out of habit.

"Yeah, he's in the room now, actually. Apparently he's been in love with me for almost a decade. We're, uh, sort of together now." There was another long pause.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ever figure that out, but I should've guessed that he, creepy stalker he is, would follow you there and profess a pathetic love almost ten years in the making. Put him on?" I heaved a sigh.

"Thomas, you were one of the ones telling me, throughout much of that almost ten year span, that he wanted to screw me." He huffed.

"Because I thought you knew about the sexual part! Empty Night, you returned it, flirted back at him, all that shit. Notice I never said a thing about love, because that was the part I didn't like. Love and lust are two separate things. Him lusting after you, I could take that. Love is a whole different story. Let me talk to him."

"Am I going to hear about threats made to danglies and other assorted goodies if I do?" I could easily envision the shrug I got for that.

"Depends on if your boyfriend tells you about threats made to danglies and other assorted goodies."

"You're not going to shut up until I let you talk, are you? And even if I don't, I'm not under any delusions that you wouldn't just accost him as soon as you saw him, so whatever. Here he is. John, Thomas wants to talk with you. Please inform me of any threats made to the goodies I might want later, so I can deal with them accordingly." John laughed quietly and held out his hand for the phone, and Thomas suddenly started yelling loudly enough that I could hear him even though the receiver was no longer at my ear. John winced.

"Has your dick gone anywhere near his ass you fucking prick?" Oh, Hell's Bells. Hell's fucking Bells, my brother. He should probably be glad I love him.

"If you mean have I had penetrative sex with him, then no. Might I ask why it's any business of yours anyway?" Had Thomas been in the room with us, I'd have seen him grinding his teeth, arms crossed angrily, probably pouting, and the dick would still look just as gorgeous as ever. Me, bitter? You must be thinking of someone else.

"Because I'm the one who protects him. Sex is all fine and dandy, hell, he should probably have a lot more of it than he does, but love is a funny thing. Love hurts. You hurt him, I'll hurt you." John blinked.

"Am I receiving a 'shovel talk'?" I heard Thomas cackle.

"Yeah, but I'm not threatening you, or your genitals, just yet. I'm saving that for the end. Harry's had bad luck in love. Both women he's loved have left him. He loves me, loves his friends, yeah, but it's different. I've felt love for him on you, but I don't know how deep or how true it is, because I can't stand looking at it, not for long, but if it's not real love, if you just want a lay, then you never fucking touch him again." John was frowning, deeply, making the lines stand out more sharply on his face.

"If sex was all I wanted, I could have it. Perhaps not from Harry himself, but from near anyone else. Sex is not a hard thing to get; you should know that rather well. I would like a relationship with him, if he'll give me one. I'd like him to love me as I love him, share whatever life I have left with him." Thomas growled.

"I don't want to believe you. I think you're a horrible example of humanity for even thinking of making my… my…" John's eyes narrowed.

"Your what?" Oh hell, Thomas. Hell, hell, hell.

"Brother," he finally hissed, and no, I really didn't want my apparent new boyfriend to find out I had a vampire brother over the phone while we were on another continent. I was hoping to spring that one after a little time had passed, after we could see Thomas in person. "My brother. For ever thinking of making my brother, my blood, fall in love with you." John actually displayed shock. I hadn't thought that one possible.

"Your brother."

"Yeah," Thomas snarled, "I don't think I was supposed to tell you that, but family is the most important thing. Family takes care of family, and I'm the oldest, so it's my job to look out for my idiot little brother. Fact of life. Now, on the threats: you ever hurt him, ever make him cry, I swear I will cut off your balls, feed them to you, and make you thank me for the privilege. I will shave your head and dye it purple. I'll kick your ass from here to Australia, back again, to the moon, and into the sun. After this is all over, I'll let Harry himself have at you, and I don't want to think of the kind of shit he can dish out." John laughed.

"Mr. Raith, should he be harmed by my hand, I would welcome it." Thomas snorted.

"That's the most clichéd line I've ever heard, and I'm a master at giving clichéd lines. Thanks for the sentiment, though. I'll keep that in mind when I'm stewing your balls, make sure to get some good flavor in them, so you can have a better experience when eating them. I'm a benevolent kind of guy, you know?" I've said before that if something has danglies and can lose said danglies, you should go after those fucking danglies, but I'd never heard of anyone who was quite as willing as Thomas apparently was to really fuck up someone's chances at children. And I've stabbed something in the balls with a sword. I know crotch injuries. John, though, simply put on a kind smile.

"Of course, Mr. Raith. I suppose I'll speak with you again later."

"Damn right." Thomas disconnected the line. I slid slowly to the ground.

"My brother, going after balls since 1969." John looked confused for a second, and I smiled.

"Thomas is five years older than me. I was born on Halloween of 1974." He nodded, and pulled me to my feet just in time to hear Bob whistle.

"Hey, Johnny! You're back! And with my boss, apparently. I'd like you to know that I have the ability to possess you and force you to be fucked by a goat. Not fuck a goat, remember, although I could do that too. Get fucked by a goat." And then he was gone again. John blinked.

"I suppose I should be pleased that so many beings care for you." I laughed.

"I'm going to guess you're not?"

"Equal mixture of pleasure and annoyance. I don't particularly wish to know what Ms. Murphy would have planned for me, however. And I believe Mr. Carpenter has a great many connections with a great many beings I'd not like following me around." I grinned, and, from my place on the floor, caught sight of the EBay sheet. Good a time as any. I stretched forward and grabbed it, glancing at the names. Ferrovax was there, yeah, under his alias of Mr. Ferro. Arianna Ortega, Paolo's wife. A few Raith's were on the list, as well as some Malvora's and Skavis', which was sort of expected considering who'd put me up for sale to begin with. The top bidder, however, was the most surprising.

"John fucking Marcone. You tried to buy me on EBay, didn't you? Stars and Stones, man." He actually managed to look ashamed of that, which I assumed meant that any other human would have, by this point, spontaneously combusted at all the shame filling them. John doesn't seem the time to be ashamed of much.

"I'd have let you go," he said, as though that made the fact that he'd attempted to purchase another human being over the Internet all hunky dory.

"Uh huh. Is that going to tell me why you wanted to buy me in the first place?" I crossed my arms and tried to look mad, like I was more upset than I was, because I wouldn't feel like myself if I let him off easy. I might spontaneously combust from an overdose of sarcasm and rapier wit, which my doctors told me would totally happen if I didn't let all that genius flow free, no matter the occasion.

"I had assumed that the ones purchasing you didn't have good intentions. How is it that you know about EBay to begin with?" I knew a subject change when I saw one.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was all noble and didn't have anything to do with all the molesting that's happened this week, or that thing on the third floor. Also, I live in the modern era, and I have modern friends. I might not be able to look at EBay myself, but I do have friends who use it. And I might have seen a commercial of it before, on one of the TV's in the store I go to so I can keep up on my pop culture references."

"What occurred in that hallway was mutually enjoyable, was it not? I suppose I should have guessed that you watched TV through a shop window. Tell me, do you bring popcorn along?" I snickered.

"It was okay, I guess. Yeah, though, I did once, but I almost got arrested for loitering, so I had to be a little less conspicuous." He sighed and shifted smoothly to put an arm around my shoulders. I wondered why some guys got all the luck, and also if John would get offended if I suddenly belted that song out. He probably wouldn't, I guessed, but the cats in the area would probably be pretty upset by my caterwauling. I might have gotten pretty good at playing the guitar, as time has passed and my therapy with it continued, but singing was not my talent, and likely never would be, whether or not Thomas made good on his threats to force me to go visit a vocal coach. I like singing in the shower, okay? I sound a little better in there, so I don't see where Thomas had any right to complain so much. When in the shower, the quality of my singing voice went from 'diseased and painfully dying walrus' to 'walrus dying of old age'. I say that's a marked improvement. Anyway. What was I saying? Something about luck? I lost track. Still, John spoke again, quietly.

"Are you still planning on staying here? Even after what's happened between us?" I blinked. I didn't… I didn't know, not really. I loved this job. I was helping kids. What would Lawrence do, if I left, since I was the only one teaching him? Who would take my job? John smiled, sad. "I understand."

"What?" I asked, voice a little too low, cracked.

"You don't wish to leave, and I won't force the issue. I suppose I can make arrangements to visit, just as you will." I didn't want that either. I'd just found a new relationship, something that could make me happy, and I'd have to destroy it immediately. I didn't like it, but I needed… something. Time, maybe. Time to consider what to do, how to make everyone happy. I stood up and pulled John with me.

"Come on, let's go eat, okay? Lunch should still be going." He smiled, and we walked down. The remaining students all spared glances to John, and I realized that Billius would have been the only one who'd seen him in his actual form. He really was good looking; I realized, with a distinguished face, broad, muscled shoulders, built for function rather than show. He also had his arm around my waist, and actually, there was a decent chance that's what the students were looking at. I'd spent the whole week being accosted by John, but he hadn't looked exactly like John. To the students, I assumed, I looked like a huge slut. Wonderful. Still, we got to the table and found Hendricks and Gard already there, seated beside one another. There was one chair missing again, and I glanced over at Dumbledore. His eyes were twinkling again. Damn him. John laughed at my huffing, and led me over to the table, where he sat and then proceeded to pull me down on top of him.

"Yes, this seems to be just as wonderful as I'd assumed." I rolled my eyes, feeling his hands settled on my hips. I scarfed my food and proceeded to pout angrily. John just laughed and ate himself, before a student, Lawrence, walked up to the table.

"Hey, Professor Dresden. Can I come by your classroom tonight? For, uh, lessons?" John had to stretch to peek over my shoulder at the boy. I smiled, attempting to ignore the fact that John's hands had gone tight where he'd earlier pressed a bruise.

"Sure, that sounds alright. Sorry I wasn't there last night, but John and I got stuck on the third floor." I spared a glance at Hendricks, who looked away guiltily, a blush bright on his cheeks, while Gard just smiled an enigmatic smile. Lawrence smiled, uncomfortable.

"No problem. See you then." I nodded, and John shifted me, doing that bouncing thing he'd done the first day again. I enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than I probably should have, this time, and felt something in the front of my pants growing to match the problem in the front of his. I bit my lip as lunch ended, and walked to my classroom, so I could attempt to get some work done, John trailing behind me. I probably should have guessed what was going to happen, but I like to imagine that there's good in people. I know, I know, it's a bad habit for me, but in my mind, it's not normal for a person to walk into their classroom and then immediately get bent over a desk. Not normal at all. To John Marcone, however, it apparently was, because this was the second time this had happened. He had to have some kind of fetish.


	9. Chapter 9

From his place behind me, John reached around rapidly, too quickly for me to recognize, really, and groped me through my jeans, me giving a hiss at the feeling and him giving a chuckle at my reaction.

"It good?" he asked, and oh, hell, he sounded like Mel again. Deft fingers undid the button and fly of my pants and yanked them down to my ankles, and I saw my duster fluttering to the ground shortly after, along with my underwear, which the fucker tore, damn him. Those were my favorite, too! They had Spiderman on them, and Spiderman reminded me of me, what with him being such an underdog and all. I liked Spiderman. Now he was all ripped in half. Stupid John. And how was I even going to get dressed again? My jeans would ache like hell now.

"Damn it, John. What the hell are you doing?" He laughed into the nape of my neck, then nipped at it a few times, mouthing and sucking until I knew there'd be a mark. I, despite really, really not wanting to, was forced to release a sound that those less informed would have called a whimper, but was, in all actuality, a very powerful, strong sound that was so powerful and strong there's no name for it.

"I believe I'm groping you over your desk. Have I already driven you to mindlessness?" His hand slipped around to grab my dick again, and oh, hey, I was hard wasn't I? Huh. Must've been leftover from lunch. I hadn't noticed.

"Looks more like you're ruining more of my clothes." He grinned, I could feel it, even if I couldn't see it, and squeezed lightly. I choked, and he pressed hard against my ass for a few seconds before I heard the rattle of his belt and the soft whoosh of air that accompanied his pants hitting the ground. I tried to twist to see what was happening, what he was planning on doing, and got a smack on the ass for the effort.

"No peeking, honey." I rolled my eyes.

"Apparently shitty pet names are a constant for you. At least honey is better than the dollface and sweetheart I've been getting all week." He grunted, and patted where he'd struck. It stung a little, but it was definitely not the worst thing I'd ever felt.

"I rather like those. You are a sweetheart, Harry." He stepped away from me and grabbed my duster up from the ground, shoving his hand into the sleeve and yanking my blasting rod free from the little loop. I wondered what the hell the crazy bastard was doing, and he glanced over at the classroom door. He stepped over and locked it. Oh fuck. Even after all that had happened, being locked in a room with a horny, eager mobster was still a little… discomfiting, to say the least. Scary as all hell was probably a better term to use. He removed the new shirt he'd put on before, after I'd torn the buttons off of his other one, and his tie, and his boxers, and then I felt the press of his chest against my back again, the heat he produced warming me to my bones. He hadn't let go of my blasting rod, and I wondered what he thought he could do with it. I was suddenly confronted with the wooden object in front of my face. "Suck," he said, voice husky and low and doing weird things to me that were entirely unexpected. Although why he wanted me to suck on my blasting rod remained a mystery.

I tried to turn around and ask him what was going on in his kinky ass brain, but he pressed his free hand down between my shoulder blades and kept me where I was. Huh. Either he'd been a lot weaker when he was eighteen, or he'd never tried too hard to keep me in a position like this.

"John, what the fuck are you doing?" I asked, or at least tried to. I got a blasting rod in my mouth shortly after his name got out. I glared at the wall behind my desk and imagined John strung up by his toes getting knives thrown at him. Flaming knives. It'd be a fitting punishment, I think. I sucked on the length of wood obediently, since I assumed I'd get to yell at him faster that way. Besides, it didn't actually taste all that bad; it was earthy, and actually almost sweet because of the polish I used on it, and it was smooth but for the runes carved into it. Those did feel a little weird against my tongue, but still. John slid it in and out of my mouth, twisting it occasionally, and I could both feel and hear his breath against the back of my neck. The hand between my shoulder blades tensed periodically, scratching tiny marks into the skin there, and his hips jerked steadily against mine. Feeling how hard he was, and feeling it so intimately, knowing I'd done that to him, knowing I'd broken some of that iron control, made me feel a little egotistical, and powerful. I groaned around my blasting rod, and he slid it free. I turned my head uncomfortably and kissed him for a couple of seconds, before he pulled away and had me turn my head back to where it had been before.

"I don't want it to absorb all the moisture, Harry. It'll hurt, then." Before I could as what he meant, I felt the wooden focus slide softly down my spine, wet and cool and I suddenly understood what he was planning on doing with it. Kinkiest motherfucker I ever met, and he hid it ridiculously well. All this time, and I'd assumed he got off on free market economies and incompetent, easily bribed police officers.

"Oh hell no!" I squawked and squirmed, but he still held me there with annoying ease. "I've made jokes about phallic foci before, but that's taking it too far! You're not sticking anything with the power to blow a wall out of this castle in my ass!" He then proceeded to immediately stick something with the power to blow a wall out of that castle in my ass. I attempted to make a noise, but nothing would come out, and instead I just ended up with my mouth wide open and my heart fluttering in my chest. He stepped back, removed his hand from my back, but I didn't move, too busy sprawling over the desk, clutching at nothing, and panting. It felt good. I hadn't expected it to feel good. John laughed breathlessly, and I knew that if I could turn around he'd be smiling with all his teeth, and his eyes would have darkened to the color of a forest. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and danced over my desk. John twisted the blasting rod, pulled it until only the barest bit was in me, the shoved it back. It hit something that made me cry out and cant my hips back to feel it again. My dick throbbed, trapped between my belly and the desk and even that felt good.

"Still going to complain, Harry?" He twisted it again, pressed it hard against that place until I was quivering, my legs struggling to keep me standing even with the desk supporting most of my weight. And then John, an asshole to the bitter end, stopped moving it and stepped far enough away from me that I could no longer feel the heat of his body. I whined, noisy, pathetic, and too far gone to care. "Fuck yourself on it," he grunted, and I growled, even though I knew it probably had no affect at all, since I was the one bent over a desk with my own damned blasting rod shoved in my ass.

"You're the one that put it there," I managed, and he laughed.

"So I am. And you're the one who's enjoying it, so fuck yourself on it." I laughed, and wiggled my ass at him. A predator growl, far more effective than mine, ripped from his throat, and I shuddered.

"Yeah, you're not getting a damned thing out of this." I reached back behind myself, an annoyingly simple feat since not a lot of my height was in my upper body, and grabbed what wasn't in my body tightly. It took me a few seconds to get the rhythm, the angle right, but eventually I managed it, got it to hit that place every time, and started pushing my hips back to meet the thrusts. I still felt dirty, though, a little disgusting because I was using my blasting rod to do this, and that was wrong and dangerous for reasons I couldn't quite recall at that particular moment. And John was watching; I could feel his eyes on me, hot and wild and him. That made it all the dirtier, all the more uncomfortable, all the more amazingly pleasurable.

* * *

Marcone's POV

I hadn't thought about how it would look, not really. Oh, yes, I'd thought of doing this before, about shoving the blasting rod inside him, seeing that instrument of such great power used for something so base, but I'd never been able to fully imagine that it would look quite this good. He was flushed, eyes clenched closed even though he didn't seem to realize they were, and while he started stutteringly, uncomfortably, the motion of his hand quickly grew natural as he discovered what he enjoyed and what he didn't. His hips moved expertly, by this point, angled up and towards me, and his legs were shaking. I stepped back towards him, closer, and fisted my own dick in my hand. I saw him reach down towards himself to try to do the same, but I swatted his hand away. He whined.

"John, I need to come, I have to," he hissed, and the motion of the hand behind him grew rough and brutal as he continued to impale himself on the wooden instrument. I wondered, for a second, if something similar could be done with his staff and shook my head to sweep away the thought. That was likely far too large, at least for now, when he was so unused to such things. I smiled, and stroked a gentle path up his sweat-damp back. The papers on his desk would be ruined, by the end of this. The thought made me smile, and his muscles twitched under my fingers.

"Not right now." He whined, and presented his ass to me yet again, allowing it to sway enticingly before me as he continued to fuck himself on the blasting rod. I supposed I should look into getting him a dildo, or something similar. Nothing electronic, of course, as I had no hope that would last long enough to serve any purpose, but I was certain arrangements could be made. He sighed, loudly, and his eyes flickered back open, wide and endlessly dark. Lost in clichés as I currently was, I was quite certain that I'd gotten lost in them during our first meeting and never again found my way out. His lips curved welcomingly as he twisted his neck around to look at me again, and I pressed another kiss there. He participated enthusiastically, obviously more a fan of kissing than I'd have pegged him to be. It was, however, a pleasant surprise. While on the surface most find me to be cold, I have what is likely a bad habit of participating in public displays of affection. If I am with someone I care deeply for, I enjoy having a hand on them in some way, of allowing others in the area to know that the person was mine, in one way or another, whether it be employee, friend, or, in Harry's case, lover. I pulled away and he was beautiful, with kiss red lips and lazy eyes not yet sated.

"Then give me something else, Johnny. I might start to think you can't get it up," he said, and a sandpaper snicker tore from his hoarse throat. I rolled my eyes, because only my Harry could continue such nonsensical banter in this situation.

"What do you want?" If he was going to mock me, I was going to make him embarrass himself. He buried his face into his arm and groaned, his hand finally ceasing its motion behind him, because as amazing as it had been when he'd begun, I assumed he was now finding it to not be enough. He mumbled something into the arm I couldn't quite catch. "You really must learn to speak more quickly, dollface," I murmured, a smirk on his face. He snarled quietly, and picked his head up. The angry glare in his eyes was hardly as effective as I'm sure he was hoping it was, what with how it hardly managed to break through the lusty haze, and certainly did nothing to counteract the pink face and kissed lips. I did manage to hold back laugh, though, because I was under no illusions that he wouldn't simply leave the room, and me, if I pissed him off, or pushed him too far.

"Fuck me," he growled out, and slid the blasting rod from his hole. He dropped it on the desk in front of him, and shoved his ass up against my hard on for emphasis. I shuddered, and took my place behind him, positioned myself, and then had a thought.

"Say please." He whined.

"John, what the hell? Fuck me, or I'll do it myself." I laughed, breathless and hungry and wanting, and shifted away from his attempts to force me into him. "Come on! You want it too!"

"What I want is for you to ask me nicely," He wiggled, apparently trying to tease me into giving up, but I'd been waiting for years. I could wait a little longer, until he gave me what I wanted.

"You enjoy it this much when you made me say it over the phone?"

"Yes, actually. It was quite fun to imagine again, later that night. And again, and again, and again." He moaned, and looked at the blasting rod again, apparently debating whether or not to give into his pride or just finish getting himself off with that. I, honestly, wouldn't mind one way or the other.

"Please, John," he finally whispered, and I closed my eyes, shivering, draped myself over his body like a blanket. I jerked against him, without actually penetrating, and he whimpered, totally boneless over the desk.

"Please what?" Pride apparently abandoned, he answered quickly.

"Please fuck me until I can't fucking breathe, damn you." Of course there was no way of getting him to say it completely submissively, and I didn't want him to. Him complying with what I asked wouldn't be nearly as arousing, if he lost that spark that made him himself. I was about to thrust into him when he suddenly wiggled away again. I sighed. "Slick," he grunted, "You're not shoving that thing into me without something to make it easier." I cursed and fumbled away, sudden awkwardness filling me, as though I really was a teenager again, as though this were my first time. I'd never felt like quite so much of a bumbling idiot during sex even then, however. I scrambled into my pockets and pulled out a small bottle even as he laughed at me and kept wiggling his ass tauntingly. "Poor Johnny, you got me all hot and bothered and forgot something like that. You should be ashamed, making me wait," he snickered. I glared as I popped the cap and rubbed the stuff over myself, seizing up at the cold but unwilling to wait long enough to warm it. He looked as though he was preparing to comment again when I shoved into him in one long, smooth motion, and the words caught in his throat and turned to a moan.

"Better?" I whispered in his ear, pulled out, and fucked in hard again. I bent down and took the juncture of his neck and shoulder into my mouth, sucking and biting a bruise there, and he groaned and squeezed around me. I hissed.

"Harder, John. I can hardly feel you, are you sure you even went in?" he teased, and my eyes went narrow. Whether he was serious or not, I was quite far gone, by that point, and felt insulted. I took him by the hips, pressed my fingers into the bruise I'd already put there, and slammed in hard, hitting his prostate easily. He keened, back arching like a bow, and collapsed back onto the desk. "Yeah, good, good! John, John, John!" he chanted, endless, and I will admit that my ego was assuaged greatly. I released his neck from my teeth and saw the purpled spot, then grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into another kiss. It was wet, and his teeth clacked against mine, but it made me feel happy, ecstatic even, and I grabbed his dick in a loose grip, twisting up and down steadily. I jerked hard into him once more, at the same time I twisted him, and he came without warning. His scream almost seemed to echo, and as he tensed around me again I came too, an animal growl I didn't even know I could produce ripping from somewhere deep in my chest, and I bit the nape of his neck again. He hissed, but made no attempt to move me. I lay there in him, on him, for about five minutes before I pulled out, and saw my come leak down his thighs. He groaned, and rolled his eyes at me. "Damn it, my ass hurts now. Prick." I patted said hurting ass in consolation, and smiled.

"As you say, deal with it." He snickered a little and pulled himself up from the desk. A few papers clung to his chest, and he'd gotten some come on others. He glanced at a thick sheaf of papers that had taken the brunt of the abuse and sighed.

"My lesson plans. Of course you had to fuck me on top of my lesson plans. You couldn't have let me move the stuff off of this thing before you did that?"

"The spontaneity is half the fun. Simply be glad it is a solid desk, and not the one form your office back in Chicago. We'd have likely broken that one."

"Yeah, yeah, silver linings and all that. Go get something to clean me up with. I'm not putting my jeans back on with come leaking out of me. I'd rather not ruin them." I nodded, and slowly worked on getting myself dressed.

"I should buy you a plug." He squawked again, just as indignant as when he'd done it earlier. I seemed to do that to him often, and wondered if I should be pleased or offended. I settled for a comfortable mixture of both that I often got whenever he was around.

"Dick." I finished dressing, and moved towards the door, waiting for him to get out of anyone who may have been on the other side's line of sight before I unlocked it.

"Keep talking and I won't come back." He didn't respond, and I smirked as I opened the door and walked out into the hallway, certainly looking every bit as pleased and sated as I felt. That was why I was so discomforted by the child I found outside the door.

* * *

He was a shorter boy, perhaps a bit heavy, and dressed in green. I recalled him from the first day I'd come, as the boy I'd seen in Harry's bedroom, chatting with him, the one who'd turned me young again. He was holding a letter in his hand, tight enough that the envelope was crinkling despite being made of heavy, high quality paper. It was sealed shut with a blue stamp, the design of which I couldn't recognize from this distance. Had he… had he heard what had happened? I supposed I should count myself as lucky that the door had no windows. I winced a bit, but glanced down at him.

"Yes?" I asked, and he stepped back from me.

"You're him. The one I… made young again. The spell wore off. I knew you and the Professor were… doing that! I knew… was it just your age? Did he think you were too young that way?" I looked down at him curiously.

"Harry and I have only just established a relationship. It was partly your doing, actually, as before I was forced into youth again, I did not have the bravery with which to confess my feelings. I suppose I must thank you, really." The young man glared at me harshly, and crossed his arms, letter still held tightly in hand.

"I don't want your thanks! Professor Dresden is… I like him, okay! He's the… he's the only teacher that likes me! The only one that helps me!" Oh, hell. I took him by the arm and led him away from the door, hoping Harry had had the good sense to lock it back again once I left.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

"Billius," he hissed. I nodded.

"Yes, well, please stop yelling. Harry is a bit… indisposed, at the moment. Please allow me to finish what I left his classroom to do, and then we may talk like grown men, yes?" He stared down at his feet embarrassedly.

"What did you leave to do?" I believe I may have flushed a bit. I was not particularly keen on telling a child that I was going to get something to clean my come out of him.

"Something to… clean him off." The boy blushed too, obviously recognizing what I meant, and nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Can I… can I talk to Harry too? After he's… cleaned up, I mean." It'd probably do good to allow that, actually. Harry would probably be better at setting the boy straight than I would. I nodded.

"Of course. He is related to this situation as well. It would be rude to talk about it without him, and I'd much prefer him not being upset with me. I rather enjoy having all of my parts where they are, and decidedly not burning." The boy, Billius, allowed a small, sad smile to flicker over his face as I went to Harry's bedroom. Gard and Hendricks sat on the bed, one of Hendricks' strong arms wrapped around her middle as though she couldn't beat the red head senseless if she so chose. Billius looked at them curiously, and Hendricks looked at me and heaved a heavy sigh. Gard gave a wide, primal grin, and laughed. I thought perhaps Hendricks might begin crying, and Gard rolled her eyes at him. I thought perhaps that I should have been worried that they were growing so adept at reading one another, but then ignored it. The two cared for each other, and there was naught I could, or would, do about that.

"There should be something you can use in my bag over there, John," Gard said, seeming pleased with herself. I opened the bag and discovered a soft rag that would indeed be perfect for my purposes. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she smiled enigmatically as Hendricks appeared to want to bash his head into a wall. "Call it intuition, John."

"Manipulation more like it," Hendricks mumbled. I sighed, shook my head, and left. I was perfectly happy allowing them to work out whatever that was on their own. I stopped at the closest restroom to Harry's class and wet the rag with warm water, then stopped in front of the door. Billius had trailed along after me the entire time, but now I had him step out of view from the door and knocked on it softly. I heard a lock shift, and Harry peeked out at me. I slid through the smallest crack we could manage, and locked it again behind me.

"Bend over the desk again, love," I said softly, and he did so without complaint, which was actually quite a pleasant surprise. I dabbed at his opening as gently as I could, and he bore it with hardly a hiss. "There was a boy outside, during at least part of our… coupling. The one who changed my age, Billius. It appears he's developed something of a crush on you. He had a letter in his hand," I said, and suddenly a memory came to the surface, a memory of a letter requesting that Harry appear on the third floor, the letter that had caused me to bring the man there to begin with, and enabled Gard to lock us in, although now her reasons were becoming a bit more clear. I'd have to give her a raise, soon. Harry sighed quietly, and I moved down to wipe his thighs clean.

"Huh. I didn't really suspect him of sending those. He didn't… hear too much, did he? I don't exactly want my poor student scarred for life." I laughed, quietly.

"I believe he was only there towards the end, and he would have only heard, not seen. Don't trouble yourself over it. And who did you suspect of sending them, Harry?"

"Not anyone, really. I haven't exactly had time to launch a full scale investigation, what with all that's been happening this past week." I allowed him to stand, and he dressed. "Hey, John?" I hummed. "You know, I think I do love you." And then he went over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. Billius closed it behind him, but it remained unlocked this time. I noticed that Harry had cleaned his desk, during the time I'd been gone. I couldn't really react to much else, though, after his confession. He truly did have the worst timing of anyone I'd ever met, but that was likely part of his ridiculous charm.

"Hello, Professor Dresden." Harry smiled, and sat down at his desk. I moved to stand beside him.

"Hey, Billius. John, um, already told me what was going on. And I'm flattered, really, you're a good kid."

"But I'm just a kid, right?" Billius whispered, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah. A good kid, but a kid nonetheless. I like you, but I like you how I'd like a brother. I know that, because I've got a brother, you know? I care about you, and I want you to do well, and succeed, and find a nice boy or girl closer to your own age to settle down with. Now, I've got me my very own personal mafia king pin boyfriend right here, and I'm happier than I've been in a long time. I'm not the one who's supposed to make you feel the way I do now, but you'll find him or her, I know that. You're too nice of a kid not to, and you're a lot more eloquent than I could ever hope to be." I shifted a little, so that my arm was over his shoulders and I could pull his head into my stomach. He glared up at me, and I smiled as sweetly as I could. Billius laughed a little.

"You guys are… yeah; you're good for each other." He held up the letter in his hand, so Harry could see it, and tore it. That made me happy on a base, visceral level, made something inside me grin in joy and laugh helplessly. I recalled the feeling of parchment tearing in my own hands, and god, but I wished some of those memories didn't have to be so blurred. I supposed I should've just been grateful that some stood out in stark, graphic detail, like the things Harry had told me about himself, his past, his fears, his pain, all the things I wanted to patch up and heal even if I wasn't sure I could. Harry smiled too.

"Thank you, Billius. And thank you, Johnny, for not having three simultaneous heart attacks over this, and for not attempting to injure a person or object in response, because I'm pretty sure that even like this you have the ability to go all caveman on me." I petted his head in response, and he whined. "Cheater." Billius smiled, and yes, there was a touch of sadness, of rejection there, but there was a touch of new hope and happiness too, and he left the room easily. I crouched down, not on my knees but close, and pressed my lips to Harry's again. He kissed back languidly, lazily, and there wasn't anything sexual about it, this time. It was sweet and comfortable and something I'd have every day if I could, but it seemed as though I wouldn't be able to, because I'd have to get back to Chicago soon, or my empire would shatter, I knew, I had to go but I didn't want to, not without Harry, not without the man I loved more than anyone. He seemed to get where my thoughts had drifted, and reached up to run his own hand through my hair, though it was too short for him to get much of a grip on it. It still felt nice, though, and I can admit that I enjoyed the sensation. He smiled, and stretched up to kiss my throat lightly. A loud, crackling loudspeaker sounded suddenly.

"Professor Harry Dresden, Professor Severus Snape, and Professor Dresden's guest, Mr. Marcone, report to the office of Headmaster Dumbledore." It cut off with a pop, and I helped Harry to his feet. He moved with a small limp, and that made me smirk triumphantly. We ran into Snape as we moved down some hall, and he led us the rest of the way to the Headmaster's office, as the stairs that led to it were password protected and hidden by a statue of a phoenix. I thought that it might be useful to have Gard rig up something similar, as a protection for a safe house, although not nearly as theatrical, of course. We entered the office to the sight of an old man smiling gamely, blue eyes bright under half-moon glasses.

"Have a seat, please," he said, softly, his voice weathered and endlessly wise with age. I knew that wizards had a long lifespan, knew that when one looked fifty there was a decent chance that they were a hundred and fifty, perhaps more. This man, wizened and hunched… I didn't want to consider the breadth of his years, his power. Harry and Snape followed his request immediately, and I assumed it would be smart of me to do the same. I have many enemies. I do not need one such as the man before, and while he appeared kind and polite at first glance, like someone's grandfather, I didn't particularly want to see what his wrath would twist that into. When he spoke again, minutes had passed and a smile had curled his lips, half-hidden under his long beard and mustache. "Harry, the very day I asked you to come here, I did it with one particular thought in mind; a man such as yourself, powerful, and certainly with enough love to spare, you needed someone. I knew that someone was Mr. Marcone. I asked you to come with the knowledge that he would follow, although, young Billius' spell did change my plans a bit. It was, however, rather entertaining." Harry stared. I blinked, and kept the surprise I too was feeling shuttered.

"What? Why would you even…" Dumbledore held up a hand, and Harry quieted. That was an incredible skill. I wished I could do it, for a second, until I decided I liked his idiotic babbling too much to want to make it stop. I hoped that, in the future, when that babbling was about to lead to him doing something dangerously suicidal and moronic, I could remember that and not club him over the head.

"You make a powerful ally, Harry. Certainly a man I'd like on my side, if it came to that. Mr. Marcone as well. I had assumed that creating a situation in which the two of you were forced to admit your affection towards one another would get you both on my side. Of course, Sigrun helped as well. We are old friends, you see." I don't know why I was unsurprised by the fact that he knew Gard. By this point, I was quite certain that my new employee knew damn near everyone and everything. Harry looked like he was putting something together, slowly but surely.

"The White Council. You recently separated from them. That wouldn't make them happy, I know that. They aren't… oh, Hell's Bells. You want to fight the Council." A pale smile touched the man's lips.

"I am old, Harry. I've not many years left, on this plane. I should like to die doing something important, and the White Council… they have long outlived their usefulness. It is time for something different, for a new system, and when the new system is corrupted, I can only hope that you, Harry, will still live to remove it, or that another brave wizard will have taken your place." Harry laughed tensely, and held his face in his hand.

"Stars and Stones, you're insane. You're totally batshit insane. Fuck me sideways. Yeah, okay. I like insane. I'm insane. John is too. We'll help, however you need it, as long as you give me time to talk to a few of my friends on the Council. If they're willing to help, if they think it can really be done, then yeah. I would've been on your side even without the fancy love tricks." Dumbledore kept up his smile. I remained pleasantly without anger as Harry made my decision for me, and recalled my own earlier threat to take out the Council because they'd harmed him. I'd honestly been planning to set something in motion upon getting back to Chicago anyway. This was simply a joyful surprise, for me.

"It never hurts to be certain, Harry, and with you on my side it is certain that Mr. Marcone will be as well." I reached out for Harry's hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

"While this is all very touching, I question why I am here," Snape said, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. Dumbledore laughed quietly, and it sounded like someone was ripping bark from a tree.

"Severus, my old friend. You know, of course, that I would like you to participate in this battle as well." The man nodded.

"You know, Albus, that after all you have done for me, you have my hand whenever you need it. Asking is unnecessary." Dumbledore nodded.

"I realize, and yet, I find myself compelled to. That, however, is not your only reason for being here. I placed you back in the position of Potions Master this year, despite the fact that Professor Slughorn is still in the castle, so that I might bring Harry here. If he does not mind, he is perfectly free to give the position back to you, and you are perfectly free to allow Professor Slughorn to take over your own place again." Hope sparkled in me, bright and flaring and I wanted to crush it myself, for fear that Harry would crush it, but I found myself unable to. Harry gazed steadily at Dumbledore's neck.

"I know the students would be in good hands, with Sevy teaching them, and after what's happened, and with what you've got planned, I know I'll be more needed back in Chicago, but I've got a request, first." Dumbledore smiled.

"Of course, Harry. If I may grant it, then I shall."

"Lawrence, a fifth year Hufflepuff. He got kicked out of Defense Against the Dark Arts for cursing another boy in what I'm pretty sure was self-defense, since said other boy was beating him up pretty often. I want him put back in the class, or I want Sevy to continue the private lessons I've been doing with him." Dumbledore nodded.

"I had thought that you and that boy would find a kindred spirit in one another. I will allow him another chance, and place him back into the class. Severus will also tutor him until he is caught back up with the other students." Harry nodded back.

"Thank you." Dumbledore smiled, and Snape was actually gaping a bit.

"Dresden," he grunted, and Harry grinned.

"I told you to call me Harry, Sevy!" I saw the dark haired man glare at his feet, while Dumbledore looked on happily.

"You two get along rather well. I believe you'd both be well suited to leading part of our resistance together."

"And me?" I questioned, keeping Harry's hand tight in mine.

"You will be organizing what 'vanilla' mortal force you can." I raised an eyebrow incredulously, and Harry answered my curiosity.

"Wizards and other supernatural denizens of the world despise it when plain old mortals get all tangled up in affairs, and really, they fear vanilla force over most things. Hell, I've said before that the best way to take me out would be a sniper. Bang, one shot, no death curse. Modern, vanilla weapons and modern, vanilla mortals are the supernatural world's worst nightmare. Time moves on, people forget, and learn, and grow, and get big ass weapons that could blow one measly wizard off the face of the planet." Truthfully, I'd never thought of it that way, but it honestly made quite a lot of sense. If every mortal on the face of the planet suddenly learned of the supernatural... well, I felt that the supernatural wouldn't have much of a chance, and yet most mortals still hid in blissful ignorance of the monsters hiding in the dark, of the world's predators, and it was by their own idiocy that they remained little more than prey. It made me sick, and in some ways, a little scared. I nodded.

"I can get all the mortal force we could possibly need." Dumbledore nodded.

"As expected. The two of you, I believe, may leave now if you wish, or you may stay for another day or two on my hospitality. By the end of the day, Professor Snape will once again be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Professor Slughorn will have resumed his post as Potions Master." Harry nodded, and we stood together, still hand in hand.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Harry began.

"But we really must go. I have been away from my work for quite a while, and the two directly beneath me are with me. I'd hate to think what chaos would break through if I was away for much longer." Harry squeaked as I dragged him from the office, though he vehemently denied such a thing later, and we went back up to his room. I packed his things as he stared in shock and Gard snickered and Hendricks just kept sighing. I wondered if, perhaps, I'd need to take him to a doctor as Gard set up a fireplace to take us home.

* * *

Harry's POV

Dumbledore started a war. Well, another war. The one with the Red Court was already blazing, the Council spread thin. When I'd told Ebenezer about it, he'd had hope, and so had Ancient Mai and Listens to Wind. Surprisingly enough, even the Gatekeeper had, and he'd joined our little resistance force that turned out to not be so little. Ramirez and Morgan, under Luccio, joined us as well, along with a few other Wardens, and I was a lot of help in getting a bunch of apprentices on our side, since many of them had long looked up to me, and they got a lot of their masters on our side. John got a whole fucking army, which was unsurprising, and Dumbledore himself had a huge group of wizards set up to attack already. The White Council went down. The Merlin, Arthur Langtry, died. A new set up was put in place, based around the Paranet I'd created, where small timers were linked to big leaguers and everyone got a say. It would get corrupted eventually, I knew that, but for now it worked well, and with everyone linked, everyone willing to fight, the Red Court wasn't nearly as much of an insurmountable foe as they'd seemed. They went down too.

I was, quite honestly, amazed. Yeah, the fighting had gone on for a few years, had been tough and rough in places, but we'd won. We'd come out on top, and that was always a sharp thrill, for me, because I was pretty much always the underdog. I remember, on the day the Red King went down, I'd grabbed John and kissed him, even though I was bloody and bruised and covered in soot and I knew I smelled horribly of smoke and sweat. He'd been stupidly thrilled and reckless and fired his ridiculously sized gun into the air once and his men had all followed in a sort of bastardized twenty one gun salute. We'd gone back to his house that evening (he'd made me move in with him), and showered together, cleaned each other's wounds and smiled because we'd lived to fight another day, because we weren't dead yet. We'd made love gently, softly, on his bed, and I'd been so, so happy I was sick.

Everything wasn't perfect, not by a longshot. The world still tried to end pretty much every year, like clockwork, but I was always still there to stop whatever big bad had come down the pike this time. The only difference was I had a hell of a lot more people on my side now, and I had become known as 'that one guy who flambéed an entire platoon of Red Court Vampires while holding his boyfriend's hand'. Not quite as many supernatural badasses wanted to flex their muscles at me anymore. I wondered why.

Thomas would, on occasion, come up to John with a knife held threateningly in his hands, and would gesture at John's crotch with it. We'd both learned to live with that particular idiosyncrasy of his, along with the fact that he apparently had a protective big brother streak a mile wide that I had not known about, John, I swear. Anyway. Nine days out of ten he and John got along okay, and the one day they don't is hell on everybody. Never have so many pieces of furniture been destroyed as in their tussles, dear god. Hell, even Murphy now got along with him five days out of ten, which was a marked step up from their previous truce of you don't fuck with me and I won't fuck with you but please know I hate you, your guts, your future offspring, and also probably every patch of dirt you've ever put your disgusting feet on. I had hope for them yet, and besides, Murphy had found a new sparring partner in Gard. Hendricks cries about that sometimes, but apparently whatever god is up there stopped caring about him a long time ago. He can join the club, as far as I'm concerned.

Michael's just glad that I managed to go off for a time and not nearly get myself killed. I didn't tell him about Ferrovax, although I think he might've guessed that something happened, considering how now John just happens to uncannily appear beside him whenever something that the Knights need to take care of comes up, and how, oh, hey, he has Shiro's sword now. I'm pretty sure I did hear him once, asking god about why in the world he allowed John Marcone, of all people, a Sword of the Cross. I'm hoping that if he gets an answer he'll tell me, but hey, the Almighty works in mysterious, exceedingly fucked up ways. If there was a prize for dysfunction in form, the Big Guy would win every time. John and Sanya did hit it off, though, which was sort of disconcerting. I suppose I shouldn't complain, though. I'd rather they got along and drank copious amounts of vodka together, or whatever it is they do, than fight. If two Knights of the Cross start fighting, I don't really want to know what would happen. I've sort of got to assume that angels would come down and break that shit up right then and there, then send them to their respective corners for a time out. Or maybe purgatory. Probably purgatory. Whatever, that's just me going off on a tangent, like always.

Still, all things considered, I'm a pretty lucky guy, for once. I've got good friends, good family, a good boyfriend, and hey, if I ever need it, Severus has offered to let me be his teaching assistant. Apparently a few students had a miniature revolt when I left, which made me pretty proud. Well, anyway, John is sort of attempting to climb onto my lap now, so I'm going to assume I'm about to have some fun, and that this little tale is about to become the farthest thing from my mind and John is a really, really good kisser. Ngh.


End file.
